


they/them

by Silent_Lex



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: A lot of Genitalia discussion, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Anxiety Disorder, Bisexual Harry and Draco, Canon Divergence - Post-Hogwarts, Everyone Has Issues, F/F, F/M, Harry Potter Has a Saving People Thing, Homophobia, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, LGBTQ Themes, M/M, Multi, Mutual Pining, Nonbinary Harry Potter, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Power Bottom Harry Potter, Queer Themes, Sex Addiction, Slow Burn, Top Draco Malfoy, Trans Male Blaise Zambini, Transphobia, afab Harry Potter, au everyone has iPhones, au harry is like 21 in 2019, it's about the pining, or androids, they do talk about sex a LOT
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-24
Updated: 2020-04-25
Packaged: 2020-05-18 21:50:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 54,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19343350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silent_Lex/pseuds/Silent_Lex
Summary: It should've been an unremarkable night, for both Harry and Draco. But there are things that have been left unsaid, things still left to learn about themselves, their bodies and minds. There are things like the loud music of a nightclub, bottles of beer, and dancing.----“I think you’re burning up, Harry Potter.” He said, finally. “You’re burning, just like I did. We had no choice, either, you know. Not with this, not with our lives.”Harry turned away from Draco. It was true- But they weren’t sure if they wanted to hear it from Malfoy.





	1. Somewhere Queer

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this after I had some thoughts about this pride month. I'm nonbinary myself, and this month has been an interesting one in discovering what that meant to me. I thought that it would be apt to write this, since I don't see much of this sort of thing in the fanfiction sphere.
> 
> Do excuse the timeline divergence- I forgot that the books ended in 1998.
> 
> Disclaimer: The word "Queer" is important to me personally, because I am Singaporean, living in Singapore, writing for Singaporeans. We use Queer as a catch-all, and it's in the titles of our pride events, which in turn becomes a word closely associated with spaces that belong to us. In my context, it is not a slur. I know that by putting this out in the world, I am putting myself and my culture up for criticism, but I have decided not to avoid using the word Queer, given what this word means for me and my community. 
> 
> Because this story is ultimately, written with that community in mind.

They are lying in another man’s bed, again. Harry looked over at their new- soon to be old- partner’s sleeping face, sighed, and kissed his forehead before departing.

 

Pants, check.

 

Trousers, check.

 

Shirt.

 

Where’s their shirt?

 

Great. Can’t find their goddamn shirt anywhere, and they were starting to think that it would be better if they could just start bringing their wand along to Muggle places now, after all they’re doing to recover.

 

It’s been years, Harry thought. Shouldn’t they be over it by now?

 

Finally, they found their shirt. It was camouflaged under their one-night-stand’s underwear, and Harry sucked in a deep breath as the shirt began to conform to their chest again, pushing the fat into a more acceptable shape. They checked themselves in the mirror.

 

Yes. This is sufficient.

 

Harry donned their glasses, and grabbed the bag they had dropped at the door the night before.

 

And just like that, they were gone.

 

* * *

 

“We need to _stop_ doing the adult thing.” Ginny said, raising her bottle to clink it with Harry’s.

“What adult thing? Working, drinking, or sex?”

“Never having time to meet.”She took a long swig from the bottle, and grimaced. “And also going to Muggle clubs. Do they really not have anything better than this? I could really go for a Firewhiskey.”

“You _could_ order other drinks, if beer isn’t your thing.”

“No.” Came the stubborn reply. Harry rolled their eyes, and leaned back against the counter. Their eyes are wandering over to a cute blonde man standing on the other end, looking a little uncomfortable in a white button-up. That’s dangerous, they thought. White shirts and clubbing never mix. Something always spills.

“How have you been?” She asked, tilting her drink towards him.

“Tired, mostly. Though I did go down on a _rocking_ twink last night so maybe my life is going great.”

“Harry Potter, you need to _stop_ engaging in horrible unhealthy sexual habits.”

“My sexual habits are amazing, I always use protection.”

“You _know_ that’s not what I mean. You’re already making googly eyes at… Some blonde. Really, Harry?”

“How about you?” They asked, desperate to change the topic. Ginny rolled her eyes.

“Oh, you know. Good as ever. Luna went hiking with Neville tonight, so that’s why I’m here.” She took another swig from the bottle, and a little bit spilled down the front of her hoodie. She grimaced, and Harry laughed. See? Spills. That’s why white shirts don’t do well at bars. Their eyes wandered back over to the blonde man, who was approaching the stage with a couple of others. Harry silently hoped that none of them were his partner. A drag show was starting in a couple of minutes. They can make their move after, but the performer was a friend. Harry wondered if they’d have the time.

“Are you two still…”

“Yeah, we’re still together, don’t worry. I’ll let you know if it stops working out, but I like our arrangement to be honest. Luna’s affections can get a little… too much for me sometimes, and I need a lot of space.”

“I meant Quidditch, but it’s good to hear.”

“OH. Well. Luna doesn’t really play with me anymore, said it’s not her thing after all, but she'd still watch. I’m still off the field.” Ginny stared at her drink, then looked up at the ceiling. “They might not let me play next season. After, y’know. What happened the last time around.”

“That wasn’t your fault.”

“I fell thirty feet after having a mental breakdown. The manager is mostly concerned about my general wellbeing. So I’m gonna be mentoring some kids, instead.” She shrugged, and sipped her drink. “They’re good people, Harry. They know it wasn’t my fault. It’s just- I saw her, y’know? That girl just looked an awful lot like Lavender.”

“I know.” Harry put an arm around Ginny’s shoulders and squeezed her reassuringly. “I still worry for you, that’s all. You can’t fault me on that- I’m Harry-fucking-Potter. I care about everything. That’s why I keep telling you- Go to therapy.”

“Absolutely not.” She said, jokingly at first, and then her face fell. “I can’t. Not yet, at least. I don’t know how you do it, Harry. You were at the front of everything. I know we joke about this, but look at you. I got through like a semester of what you had to go through for your entire life. And yet here I am. All fucked up while you soldier on.”

Harry’s eyes are on the stage now. The blonde man has been pulled up on stage by the drag queen, who decided to give him a lapdance. They could see his face clearly now. Their eyes widened. What’s _he_ doing here? They shook it off, turning their attention back to Ginny.

“I don’t know how I do it, either, Gin.” They said, waving the bartender over. “But I guess when I’ve been on fire my entire life, I stop noticing when I’m burning. Could I have another beer, please? And give it to that blonde guy who’s on stage… when he’s done with that.”

The bartender rolled their eyes.

“Bet.” They said, writing it down. Harry chuckled. They’re used to it now, that is, Harry buying drinks for other men. Ginny rolled her eyes.

“You’re always on fire, huh.” She said, downing the rest of her drink. “I guess that makes sense. I suppose I’m only just been set on fire.”

“Gin,” Harry put their hands on her shoulders. “Don’t be too hard on yourself, okay? Just because someone else went through some shit doesn’t mean that you can’t be going through some shit too.”

“Oh, fuck off Harry.” She laughed, slapping their hands away. “I know all that. You don’t have to be Social Worker Harry when it’s me.”

They smiled. “I can’t help it. You’re my number one fan, after all.”

“Shut the fuck up and go chase your blonde boy.” Ginny smirked, leaving them to go chat up a girl with fluffy pink hair. Harry rose an eyebrow. So much for unhealthy sexual habits.

 

* * *

 

“I will. Never. Allow you two to take me anywhere. Ever again.” Draco sat down angrily on the barstool. Blaise and Pansy looked at each other.

“You say that every time we bring you anywhere. And yet here you are.” Blaise said, ordering himself a fruity cocktail. Pansy got herself a nice bottle of cider. “Loosen up, Malfoy. You said you wanted to go somewhere queer. We’re at _Somewhere Queer._ ”

“At least _warn_ me about the fact that there’s a chance that I could get lap danced.”

“Okay, fine. No more drag shows.”

“No, that’s not what I meant.” He whined. Pansy snorted.

“Sure, Draco, whatever you say my dear.” She clinked her bottle with Blaise’s sugary cocktail. It even had an umbrella. “Next time, we’ll take you out to a male strip club, and buy you a proper lap dance. That drag queen had no idea what he was doing.”

 _“She._ ” Blaise said, between sips. “It’s on the posters.”

“Alright then, that drag queen had no idea what _she_ was doing.”

“I don’t _want_ any lap dances.” Draco insisted, as a drink was slid towards him. “Oh, I didn’t order a-“

“Nah, someone else ordered it for you.” The bartender jerked a thumb towards someone standing on the other end. Pansy whistled.

“We better go.”

“Yeah we should, absolutely.”

“Wait, what? No, guys, ple-“

“Common courtesy, Draco. We’d keep a safe distance, don’t worry. But we also don’t want to intrude on your otherwise potentially steamy conversation with a cutie, do we?” Blaise said, and Pansy smirked.

“We’ll be by the pool table.” She said, departing Draco with only a flick of her wrist. “Have fun!”

The two of them collected their drinks and left to stand by the glowing pool table. Why is there a pool table in this club? Draco groaned, allowing his head to hit the table.

“Doesn’t seem like you’re having a very good night, Malfoy.”

He jerked his head up. Crop top. Unruly hair. Round glasses.

“What the fuck?"

“Whoah, now. No need to be rude.” Harry said, holding a hand up. “I’m surprised to see you too.”

“… You bought me a drink?”

“Yeah, why not? I haven’t seen you in a while.”

Draco picked up the drink, cautious. They clinked, but Draco didn’t drink.

“I didn’t spike it, y’know.”

“You never know.”

“Ask Olive, then.” Harry said, gesturing to the bartender, who chuckled and rolled their eyes.

“Trust me. Harry doesn’t need to.” They said, continuing to clean the glasses. “And they’re here a _lot.”_

Draco rose an eyebrow.

“They?”

“They.” Harry smiled. “But _He_ is fine as well. I do both.” Harry pointed to the button on his crop top. ‘ _Hi!’_ It read, _‘My pronouns are: He/They.’_

“I didn’t know that you were nonbinary.”

“Yeah, I’m surprised you couldn’t tell. I’m wearing makeup, a crop top _and_ booty shorts.” They laughed. “I came out as Nonbinary about two years ago. Not that I wasn’t out in school, though.”

“… As what?”

“Trans?” Harry rose an eyebrow. “Oh, god. Malfoy, don’t tell me you didn’t know.”

“No, what am I supposed to know?”

“I’m Assigned Female At Birth.” Harry laughed. Draco nearly spat out his drink.

“No.”

“I am!”

“You’re _fucking_ with me. No fucking way.”

“No, no, I am. I was very masculine-looking when I was 11 because my aunt insisted on keeping my hair super short so that she didn’t have to buy me any women’s products. Because y’know, pink tax. No point in raising an ugly girl, after all. It would’ve been soul-crushing, had I _actually_ been a girl.”

“That doesn’t explain puberty.”

“Hermione looked up some spells and potions in place of puberty blockers. Then we went to Madame Pomfrey for help. So I started transitioning when I was like… 15? 16? Or maybe sometime before the war, I don’t remember. Madam Pomfrey also gave me stuff to help me appear more masculine, but nothing permanent until my godfather could sign my permission slip.”

Draco nodded slowly, taking a very long, slow sip from his drink. Harry was relishing in this response. It didn’t surprise them that Draco was unaware, since their interactions were usually from a certain amount of distance. The only time they were up close and personal was back in the mansion, when Draco had to identify Harry. Most of the Gryffindors knew, back then, when Harry was going through their medical transition, though there were a few who couldn’t tell. It was comforting to Harry back then, that they passed so well even without the transitional potion.

“So…” Draco said slowly. “Moving on from that. You come here a lot?”

“Oh yes. And I almost never leave alone.” They replied, sitting up on the other barstool with a coy smirk. He rolled his eyes.

“Yikes, Potter.”

“Oh don’t do that. You’re here too.” Harry smiled. “I didn’t know you were queer.”

“It… took a while.” Draco admitted. “I didn’t really realise anything until last year. Pansy laughed at me for not knowing. Seems like everyone knew before I did.”

“Mind if I ask your label?”

“I’m bi.”

“Cool, good to know.”

“You?”

“I’m bisexual too.” Harry smiled. “But I do prefer men.”

The bottle was finished. Harry and Draco were now sitting in an awkward sort of silence. Harry was being friendlier than Draco anticipated, and Draco wasn’t sure what to do with himself. He liked to think that the tension they had as teenagers had been dissolved, but they hadn’t really spoken to each other since, well. The war.

He started a sentence in his head, then ended it to start another, but that fell too. What do you say? What’s there to say?

“OH my GOD! Harry Potter!” A rush of pink and purple feathers flashed past Draco’s eyes. The drag queen from before rushed out from behind Harry and threw her arms around them, laughing. “Oh my god, love, I thought I’d see you here. Hey, you didn’t come to watch the show, you big meanie. I could’ve given you a lap dance.”

“Good to see you too, Fizzy.” Harry laughed. “You’ve met Draco.”

Fizzy turned around.

“Ohh so _that’s_ your name. That is a really interesting name, Draco.” Fizzy smiled, her big, over-exaggerated eyelashes and pink feather boa bouncing with great enthusiasm and energy. “I’ve had like three Jagerbombs, I am so ready to party. Do you wanna dance, Harry? Draco? Oh, wait, are y’all like…” She raised two fingers and crossed them. Draco turned red and Harry laughed.

“It’s in the plans if Draco’s down.”

Fizz chortled. “Well you two have fun. Harry, you owe me a drink, okay babe? Next time come watch the show, love.”

“Yes yes, I’ll see you later.”

Fizz blew them both kisses, waved with only her fingers and sauntered off to the dance floor. They watched her leave, pink latex bodysuit and all.

“Uh…”

“Oh, yeah. That was my friend. Her stage name is Fizzy Soda, but you already know that, right?”

“Yeah I- I know that. I’m more confused about- Sorry, it’s in the plans?”

“If you want.”

“Like… Sex.”

“Yes, Draco, but only if you want to. I don’t have a dick or a strapon, so I can’t really top.” Harry shrugged. “Also not very useful if you only like dick.”

“Harry- I literally never hear you talk like.” He gestured wildly. “This.”

“You haven’t met me in actual years.” Harry said, looking down at their hands. “You don’t know the half of it.”

Draco looked at Harry.

“I can guess.”

They laughed.

“Y’know if you buy me another drink…” Draco started, “I might consider it.”

And so another round of drinks were ordered. Olive looked between the two and shook their head.

“Harry, what do you even _do_ for a living?”

“That’s a secret.”

Olive rolled their eyes and continued serving other customers. The night was starting to wind down, and some patrons stumbled past them, drunk. Harry seemed to be on higher alert.

“Is something wrong?”

“No. But we know this guy who’s a sexual predator.” Harry said. “He got acquitted last year after he beat up this girl for not wanting to leave with him. He literally comes here to try and ‘convert’ lesbians. The fact that he’s not in jail pisses me off.”

“He wouldn’t be allowed in here if that’s the case, right?”

“He isn’t. But he’s friends with a bouncer. We don’t know who yet. Anyway, I thought I saw him in the crowd just now.”

“You’re… keeping an eye out?”

“He’s terrified of gay men.”

“Jesus. This man is a fucking dumbass.”

“Right?” Fizz piped up, seemingly materialising out of nowhere, causing Draco to nearly jump out of his seat. “Hello friends. I’m absolutely _sloshed._ ”

“You look fine, Fizz.” Harry said, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh I _am_ fine. I went to throw up in the bathroom, so I stopped dancing. I’m all fine now, but _brr._ That’s not good. Don’t do jagerbombs, boys. Oops- Not boys. Don’t do jagerbombs, darlings.”

“You _can_ call me a boy.” Harry said, laughing.

Draco was smiling too, now. There’s something interesting about this dynamic- Harry being the assertive one, him laying back. He liked that, somehow. A good change from school. Or maybe it’s just the alcohol buzzing- He’s only two and a half drinks in, but that was the excuse he was going with.

A lot seemed to have happened, to Harry, to him. He couldn’t even fathom the fact that he was talking to Harry Potter again - so casually. He took his phone out and sent a quick message to Pansy and Blaise-

 

 **_Draco:_ ** _’I’m all good. You two can go home, I have my wand.’_

 **_Pansy:_ ** _‘IS THAT HARRY POTTER’_

 **_Draco:_ ** _‘Please don’t ask now.’_

 **_Blaise:_ ** _‘hp is trans btw’_

 **_Draco:_ ** _‘Yes I know please stop asking.’_

 **_Pansy:_ ** _‘Potter is trans??’_

 **_Blaise:_ ** _‘ya. as long as u kno. have fun boi’_

 

He chuckled. When he looked up from his phone, however, Harry was gone.

“Oh no.” Fizzy grabbed Draco by the arm. “We better go give Harry some back-up.”

“Sorry what-“

“Harry’s lovely and also terrifying when it comes to predators, but they don’t have a lot of self-control. We should go get them before anything explodes. Like, literally.”

“I’m sure it’s not-“

“Harry doesn’t carry their wand anymore.” Fizzy said, sighing. “They don’t have any way of controlling their magic.”

The two fought through the crowds. walked up to Harry, who had put themselves between a slightly terrified lesbian and the sexual predator.

“Come on, _Daniels._ ” Harry said, smiling sweetly. “You came here for a _reason_. Coming here to chat up girls? Please. No girl here is here for _you._ ”

“Well I-“

“Get out of here, Daniels. Just get out, okay? Don’t come back. You wouldn’t want a repeat of the last time we had a little chat, do you?” Harry said, their smile becoming more of a threat than pretend friendliness. Their fists were balled up and sparking.

“You heard the boy.” Fizzy said, hands on her hips. Draco was noticing, for the first time, that Fizz stood at a terrifying height in her chunky thigh-high boots. Hell hath no fury like a 6 feet Drag Queen scorned. Daniels gritted his teeth and walked away, wading his way through the retreating crowds. Fizzy pulled a waiter over and whispered something that sounded like ‘Kick him out’.

“Are you okay?” Draco asked over the noise, looking at the girl, who smiled and nodded.

“I’m alright. Thanks a lot.”

“All in a day’s work, honey. Thanks for coming out tonight.” Fizz said, smiling as the girl prepared to take her leave. “Oh oh, I should walk you out. I’ll get a bouncer to make sure you get a cab, okay sweetie?”

And there she went, quickly as she came, escorting the girl out. Harry relaxed.

“I hate sexual predators.”

“No one likes them.”

“You have no idea. Sorry about this.” Harry smoothed out their top, and smiled. “Do you wanna get out of here?”

“Well…” Draco looked over their shoulder. “Would you like to dance? We’re here, after all.”

“Draco Malfoy, asking _me_ for a dance?”

“Fine, don’t dance then.”

“I didn’t say that.” Harry laughed, pulling Draco onto the glowing, crowded dance floor. Dancing at a club always just meant jumping, flailing your arms. But that was always more fun when you have a partner to dance with, and Draco was having fun. The music was loud and it’s impossible to talk, but Harry was smiling and laughing and dancing, their hands stretched above their head, their movements loose and fluid. Free.

Harry is a good dancer, Draco thought.

We’re not teenagers anymore, he thought. The apprehension began to melt away, as the music pulsed louder. Harry spun in a circle and grabbed Draco’s hand just as the crowd shifted, so that they didn’t lose each other. He breathed, at last.

He pulled Harry closer.

“Your place or mine, Potter?” He asked, leaning into Harry’s ear.

Harry laughed above the music, slowing to a stop.

“Mine.”


	2. Morning-Afters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Warning for: 
> 
> \- Explicit mention of genitalia  
> \- Explicit mention of sexual activity  
> \- Symptoms of PTSD  
> \- Transphobic Microaggressions / Casual Transphobia / Heteronormative Ignorance

_Buzz… Buzz…_

“Hello?”

“HARRY JAMES POTTER!” Came the sharp shriek from the other end. Harry winced, looking over beside him. Draco Malfoy was sleeping peacefully beside him, thankfully.

“Hey Hermione.” They rubbed their eyes, putting their glasses on. The light of morning was only just seeping through the windows. Harry surveyed their bedroom floor. “What’s going on?”

“Did you- Did you or did you not go home with Draco Malfoy last night?”

“Uh…” Draco stirred beside them, and they smiled. “Yeah? Why?”

“Wh- What do you mean _why?_ You know you guys are… You have _history_.”

“I was horny and he was hot, what do you want me to do?”

“I- Harry…”

They heard Hermione sigh. There was a rustling of commotion, and Harry swore that they heard Ron saying something. Then another vague noise, and Hermione returned to the call.

“You know this isn’t good for you. You really shouldn’t sleep with someone without… Talking. To them.”

“I told him that I have tits and a cunt, what other information does he need?”

“I meant about _him_. Do you even know what’s changed since he left Hogwarts?”

“Look, Hermione-“

Draco was starting to wake up. He was making vague noises, groaning as he shifted under the sheets. Harry sighed.

“Harry, please. I worry about you. We’re worried, me and Ron both.”

“I’m fine, Hermione.” Harry said, in a hushed tone. “Take care, okay? I’ll visit soon. I heard that too much worrying is is bad for the baby.”

“… Okay, Harry. Take care, alright? Love you lots.”

“You too. Bye.”

Harry hung up first. They fell back on the bed, facing a now-awakened Draco. He smiled.

“Hey.” Draco mumbled, still half-asleep. “Fancy seeing you here.”

Harry put a hand on his face. Draco leaned into it, and they were almost relieved.

“Do you want breakfast? I can make us some eggs and toast.”

“Toast sounds good.”

And so toast was had. Draco had questions burning in his mind, and wasn’t sure what to ask first. Harry placed a plate of fried eggs on the table, and sat down beside him, happily eating in silence.

“Are you always this nice to your one-night-stands, or am I special?”

“I feed anyone who’s still around after I wake up. It’s just a personal policy. A lot of people seek hook-ups because they’re lonely. The least I could do is offer them breakfast.”

“Are _you_ lonely?”

“That’s a secret.” They smiled, taking a sip of orange juice. “Vitamin C is good for hangovers, by the way.”

Draco looked down at his breakfast. Apprehensively, he began to eat.

Damn it. It’s just eggs and toast- But it was delicious.

“Do your friends usually check up on your morning-afters?”

“No.” They shrugged. “I’m guessing that Ginny saw us and realised or something.”

“Ginny Weasley? What’s she doing there?”

“We met there for a drink and a chat. Ginny’s gay, you know. A big butch lesbian. She’s in a poly relationship with Luna Lovegood and Neville Longbottom.”

“Oh.” Draco took a big gulp of his orange juice. It was tart and nearly made him pucker. “And- Granger’s pregnant?”

“She’s a Weasley now.” Harry corrected gently. “Well— Granger-Weasley. But she goes by Mrs Weasley, having a Pureblood last name makes her Ministry job easier. She’s working in the Wizard Law department, trying to advocate for better treatment of magical creatures. She’s doing a lot, honestly.”

“What about you?”

Harry stopped. They seemed to sink, and their demeanour darkened. They shrugged. And Draco took it as cue to stop asking questions. He knew where his limits were. A lot had happened in the last couple of years since they’d seen each other. It made sense. Some things are sensitive.

But the silence had settled in. And it was uncomfortable as _hell._

“I’m sorry about-“

“No, no it’s alright Malfoy. I get asked that a lot by the wizards who recognise me sometimes. I mean- Hero of the Wizarding world! Disappearing for five whole years, discovered randomly in some Muggle city. It’s a little jarring, isn’t it?”

“I think seeing you in booty shorts is more jarring.” He admitted. “I thought, y’know, if you’d transitioned magically you wouldn’t want to subscribe to feminine presentation.”

“That,” Harry said pointedly, “is an unfair assumption. Makeup is just pretty, clothes are just clothes. I transitioned because I identified with masculinity, yes, but I can like pretty things.”

Draco had to agree. That was pretty unfair of him.

“Sorry for assuming.”

“It’s a micro-aggression, nothing more.” Harry dismissed him, but something still felt off. The ignorance seemed to sting them, but he knew that Harry was trying to be patient. For that, Draco was both embarrassed and thankful.

“So what now? I leave and we never see each other again?”

“That’s usually the case.” They said, polishing off the rest of their breakfast and bringing the dishes to the kitchen. “I’ll do your dishes, by the way, so just leave it in the sink when you’re done.”

“I could just _Scourgify_ them for you.”

There was a _clang_ as dishes were dropped into the sink with no real care. Draco felt the hair on his neck stand at the sudden noise, and he felt as if he should brace for impact.

“My house—“ Harry said, staring daggers into Draco, their voice reeking of hostility and anger, “is a no-Magic zone.”

Draco put his hands up.

“Apologies."

Harry relaxed. Then they chuckled. “Accepted. So, what do you want to do? I assume you have a whole day ahead of you, and housemates to return to or whatnot.”

“I still live under my parents’ roof, actually.”

“Aw, spoiled baby Malfoy.”

“I’m closeted.”

“Oh. Well, _that_ changes the narrative. Sorry about that. Do you need a safe place to be? I’m not offering my house, but I promise you that _Somewhere Queer_ will always welcome you.”

“No, I’m- I’m alright, thanks. I don’t know if I’m ready for my parents to know anything yet, that’s all. They can be quite…”

“Mm, yes. I understand that. But hey, the Weasleys are always adopting new children. They already adopted me and Teddy. Before Hermione married Ron, they already saw her as part of the family.”

Draco _had_ to laugh. Of course, right? No, that was horrible. That, he realised, was a horrible thing to think and say. He hadn’t really thought about them in a long time, not since they stopped associating with that branch of family. That was a terrible thing to say and think. It was a good thing that he didn’t say that out loud.

“I guess I’ll go find my friends. Will I see you again, though?”

“We’ll see.” Harry said, extending their hand. “Give me your phone. I’ll write down my number for you.”

And so Draco left Harry’s place with a new phone number. He walked out into a discreet alley, and Apparated away.

 

* * *

 

Harry sighed. There’s always dishes to do. Always sheets to be washed. Always a bedroom to clean, check for belongings that aren’t theirs. Their phone was always buzzing with texts from friends— Both the real and fake kind. Some of those are just past hook-ups wanting a more permanent booty call. Others were witches and wizards who wanted the liberty of saying that they’ve slept with Harry Potter, Wizarding Hero, the Boy Who Lived. Harry gritted their teeth.

Not the _Boy_ Who Lived, they thought. The _One_ Who Lived. That wasn’t supposed to be hard. But it was to the news, apparently. And they didn’t care for labels like that, anyway. They would have preferred to be a champion for the LGBTQA+ community in the Wizarding World, but the only newsworthy thing about their queerness were pictures of them at Muggle Pride Marches. That shit always made their blood boil.

They hauled the sweat-stained sheets into the washing machine, scrubbed at Malfoy’s leftover dishes, arranged the bedroom back in order. The organization gave them comfort, that the clothes they had worn previously could be tucked away into a washing machine, that anything knocked over could be put upright again. No magic required. They were determined to live without it, after all.

Harry picked up their underwear from the night before. Ew, precum stains? That’s gross to wash out. An empty condom wrapper? Wow. They were surprised that they even had time to even get that open. Draco was a pretty passionate lover, after all. In their messy tirade, the bedroom dresser had been left ajar. Harry spied the wand they had tucked away inside, and felt the unerring pull towards it again. Without even realising, they had picked up their wand and was holding it, as if preparing to cast a spell. They barely used it anymore— Except for personal health checks. Muggle doctors were useless, so they learned their own spells to perform self-checkups every so often. They had a magical recipe for almost every medical emergency, sex-related or not. Most Muggle remedies or medicines didn’t work on them. That much, they couldn’t erase.

The wand tingled in their hands. Desperate to be used, to be held again. The magic surged through their veins, an ochestra of muscle memory building. The urge to cast a spell- Any spell- tugged at them with the force and agony of skin splitting open as Harry began to feel every part of their body spark, be lit aflame-

“Helloo?” Came a soft, airy voice. “Harry, it’s me, are you home?”

And all too suddenly, everything flew into a halt, as they threw the wand back into the dresser and headed to the door. They swung it open, only to reveal a smiling Luna Lovegood, as Ginny sighed behind her.

“I insisted that you would be okay, but Luna wanted to bring you a post-hangover care package.”

“It’s absolutely necessary. Harry is constantly a victim of Wrackspurts, alcohol and hangovers only make it worse.”

“Of course, babe, but do we _have_ to come in person today? Harry drinks _a lot."_

“Yes.”

Harry laughed.

“Well, come in, take off your shoes. I was just cleaning up after Draco left.”

“I thought so.” Ginny muttered, as Luna placed her woven seagrass sandals neatly to the side.

Ginny never liked going to Harry’s place. It was often strangely dark in there, despite being generic and featureless. Harry liked minimalistic furniture, which she supposed she could understand. But it caused their place to be oddly monochromatic, and it always felt empty. It never seemed like it had anything of Harry in it.

Worst of all, Luna never seemed to notice.

She put her care package on the dining table, instructing Harry on the proper use of everything. She’d packed what she thought were important- Dried wild herbs (good for headaches), a container of homemade stew, a seashell (just because), and an assortment of biscuits and other pastries.

Ginny thought about Luna. The way she took care of people, the fact that she cared so hard, her need to send her love. It was one of the things she loved about her. Luna liked to live the Muggle way, sometimes. She liked to walk barefoot and pick wildflowers, because it reminded her of school days. Not that Luna remembered them pleasantly- Bullying is bullying. But Ginny knew that was how she liked to remember her past. The fact that she had to walk barefoot to places wasn’t always nice, but the walking barefoot was fun.

“Hey, babe?” Ginny said, as Luna was halfway through a little explanation on the proper way to dispose of Wrackspurts. “We should probably head off soon. They’ve got a hangover to nurse.”

“Oh! Yes, yes, of course.” She smiled. “So, remember. The herbs won’t _cure_ your headaches, but they do help. I know you’re not big on magical remedies right now.”

“I’m not big on magic, full stop. I still take them, though. It’s the only thing that works out for us.”

“It’s good that you know that.” Luna said, giving them a friendly pat on the arm. “I know it can be tough. But it does get better. Have a good day, Harry!”

She and Ginny held hands on their way out. But at the door, Ginny stopped and leaned against the frame. She seemed to consider her words for a moment, and sighed.

“I know this means nothing to you, but I really, really hope you know what you’re doing. I know you’re not okay, and the fact that you keep going back on these coping mechs… it’s just unhealthy, for you and your mental health. We care about you, Harry. How long has it been since anyone last saw you sober?” Ginny said, soft, her eyes boring holes into theirs.

Harry smiled, despite everything. It’s their default response now, it’s the best response, the easy way out.

“It’s a good thing that you know it means nothing to me, I guess.” They said, catching Ginny’s embrace. “I’ll see you next week at _Somewhere Queer_ , okay? I told Fizzy I’ll watch the show next time.”

“Harry,” Ginny’s voice was hard, always tough. Always carrying an undertone of knives and hexes. It stung, most days. But when she whispered, you knew. That Ginny Weasley was tired of being tough. That, perhaps, was what was paining Harry the most. “Stay sober tonight, will ya?”

“No promises.”

She shook her head, and walked away. Harry watched the two as they Apparated, and retreated back inside.

They had a lot of cleaning left to do. There was a carpet to vacuum, desks to tidy. Clothes to iron.

Harry no longer had an Owl or a fireplace, making them effectively uncontactable by the other world. They sifted through the dry cleaning, chuckling as they identified clothing that weren’t theirs.

This isn’t my underwear. I don’t wear a size L men’s shirt. Though, I could wear it as outerwear? Maybe if I tied a knot in the- Oh, oh, no, that doesn’t work. This is an extraordinarily _hideous_ shirt. Who wore this? I allowed _this_ into my bedroom? Yikes.

They all go into the wash, regardless. Anything left behind is rarely collected, anyway. That’s how the game worked, after all.

 _What about you?_ Asked Draco.

 _I don’t know, Malfoy._ Harry thought.

_I don’t usually hook up with people I know._

Harry pulled out a white button-up, and froze for a moment. They didn’t wear white button ups. But they knew someone who does.

Is this really something they wanted to keep? Maybe they’ll return it if they saw Draco again, which seemed unlikely given their interaction that morning. Wait, if Draco’s shirt is here, what did he wear on his way home?

Oh, right. I lent him an inconsequential shirt to sleep in. It’ll be fine.

Harry liked to busy themselves with ironing. Or with wiping the floors down- They detested using mops, preferring to wet a rag with soapy water and run across the floor with it. It felt less tedious, somehow, the act of scrubbing wooden floors. With ironing, there was something satisfying about watching a crease disappear under the hot metal, flapping out a nice warm shirt that was free of creases. There was something good about that- Being in control. Even if it was just laundry or cleaning. It felt good to be in control.

 _Are you lonely?_ Asked Draco. _Are you?_

When was the last time someone had asked something like that honestly? A question that Harry had no answers to, questions their therapist never seemed to ask. The therapist was a wizarding one, because no Muggle therapist would’ve understood. But Harry had found themselves lying, downplaying their struggle, even though the therapist proved that she was no starstruck fan. Somehow, it still felt as though they had to live up to expectations, live up to their underserved title.

After all, what crime did they commit besides living?

Their phone buzzed loudly, as Harry dragged the iron across a particularly stubborn crease. They sighed, who’s this now?

“Potter.”

“Oh, Malfoy. You left your shirt here.”

“Yes. I realise now.”

Harry heard some snickering. It sounded female.

“Might I- Pansy, shut up!”

Ah, it’s Pansy Parkinson.

“I’m sorry Draco it’s just- How do you just _not notice?”_

“I didn’t notice, either.” Harry offered helpfully, chuckling when Draco groaned.

“Whatever, Potter! Can I _please_ have my shirt back?”

“Maybe. What will you give me for it?”

“Oh _come on._ You absolute wanker.”

“I haven’t really needed a wank in ages, really. When I get a little hot under my collar, I just _have sex._ ”

There was more groaning over the other end, followed by laughter and Harry decided to just put Draco on speaker so that they could continue with the ironing. He seemed to be arguing with Pansy Parkinson about something else, that Harry didn’t pay attention to until they heard the words-

“Say you’ll eat them out, Draco, they sucked dick for you!”

“Pansy you don’t even _like_ Potter.”

“I can hear you. Maybe texting me would be more effective.” Harry hummed, letting out a satisfied sigh when the crease had finally worked itself away. “I’m doing a bit of mending at the moment, text me back when you’ve made a decision. Or, well. You know where to find me.”

“Seriously, Potter?”

“Mhm, see you later.”

And with that, Harry hung up. They looked down at the shirt they were used ironing, and slowly eased it into a hanger. This was a nice shirt- A man with money gave it to them. A man they shouldn’t have met- But did anyway, even though they didn’t really need the money.

 _Stay sober tonight, will ya?_ Said Ginny.

 _I’m sorry, Gin._ Harry thought, looking down at their phone, with Draco Malfoy’s name glowing in the notifications bar.

_I can’t._


	3. Meteor Shower

The club was loud and pulsing, as always. Harry was already a couple of drinks in, and little tipsy. Sensibly, they returned to their seat at the bar in order to take a break from all the dancing. Olive served up a bottle of cider to Harry, compliments from a man with slicked-back hair and red highlights.

Edgy, Harry thought, but I like bad boys anyway.

They walked up to him with a sweet expression. Tonight’s look involves heart-shaped hoop earrings, and a soft yellow sweater that ran off a shoulder, exposing a single freckle on their soft brown skin. The man had a smooth voice, a piercing on his eyebrow, and a tongue stud to boot. He left for the men’s room, telling Harry to stay.

“Be a good boy, won’t you?” The stranger said.

That, they thought, was pretty disgusting. A red flag, even. That meant that an escape route would be necessary.

Then came a pleasant tap on their shoulder, and Harry turned around to face Draco Malfoy, wearing their shirt.

“Wonderful timing, Malfoy.” Harry said, relieved. “You would not believe this man who just approached me. Let’s get out of here before he gets back.”

“What?”

“You heard me, Malfoy.”

And so poor Draco Malfoy was dragged outside by a particularly annoyed Harry Potter, who seemed keen on walking away quickly.

“I- I was gonna buy you a drink first, y’know.” Draco said, sulking.

“You could always buy me one another time.”

“There’s a next time?”

“You came this time.”

That, Draco couldn’t argue.

“Do you have a job to get to, though? It’s a Sunday night.”

“I’m a Malfoy.” Draco said bitterly. “We don’t really do jobs.”

Harry shrugged. Fair enough.

“I don’t work, either.” They said. Draco wondered why he was surprised. “But it’s not really a choice I’m making. Employers don’t like this.” Harry gestured to themselves. “Well, most of this. I don’t usually go all-out unless I’m going to the club, see. I do enjoy attracting the right kind of attention. Do you like the skirt?”

“The skirt-“ He looked down, and confirmed that Harry was indeed wearing a cute yellow tartan skirt to match their top. “Well, can’t say I hate it. I think Fizz would say something like… ‘Werk’!”

“Oh yeah, she would.” Harry laughed, mostly at Draco’s bad impression. Draco scowled. “Wow, we are really going to be walking to my place tonight, huh. What a dangerous move. I’m a gross crossdresser, and you’re…” They scanned Draco up and down. “Never mind, you’re straight-passing. Especially with that shirt.”

“You gave me this shirt!”

“Yeah, well. You do look like someone who would listen to NIckelback.”

“I don’t even know who Nickelback is. Why would I listen to some Muggle band?”

Harry rolled their eyes. Draco seemed the same as always, just perhaps, having lost some of his attitude.

It was a pretty chilly night. Draco half regretted not bringing a jacket out, wondering whether Harry felt cold. But they seemed to show no signs of discomfort- Aside from the apprehension of walking outside late at night, as a gender non-conforming person. He wondered if he should do something.

“Why don’t you carry your wand with you anymore, Potter?” Asked Draco “It’s more dangerous to be without. Especially since you, well, can carry one. The extra protection would be good.”

Harry looked up at the night sky. It was filled with stars, which was rare given the light pollution of the city they lived in. They wondered, briefly, if it would be okay to let their guard down for a moment. When was the last time anybody asked such a difficult question, honestly? And honestly, letting Draco Malfoy in on a piece of their soul seemed fairly inconsequential.

“I stopped carrying a wand quite a while after the war ended, honestly.” Harry finally said, softly. “It got harder and harder not to shout out a Stupefy or Expelliarmus whenever something frightened me even slightly. I didn’t like it. Manifesting magic with my wand physically started to hurt, too.”

“Because of the war?”

“Maybe.” They admitted. “I’m not sure.”

“What about wandless casting?”

“That’s the thing, I guess. I don’t want to learn more magic. But I guess wandless magic happens by accident when I’m angry or scared, now. I don’t like it.”

Their eyes were fixed on their hands, now. Fixed on the things their hands were capable of- things they had done.

I didn’t kill anyone, or did I? I had to kill Voldemort, I know that much. But I know I was fighting, in that battle. Whose blood do I have on my hands- Remus Lupin, Nymphadora Tonks, Colin Creevy, Fred Weasley, Lavender Brown, Cedric Diggory- and more names, human, nonhuman, names the world had hidden from me. Why did so many have to fight for me? What was it all for? How could I just let them?

If I had just grown a goddamn backbone, Harry thought.

If I had just gone to Seventh year, Harry thought. I could’ve protected them. All fifty of them.

Would Ron and Hermione have survived the search for Horcruxes, if Harry had left? Would that have mattered? In the end, did Harry really matter to the hunt to destroy Voldemort? If they had gone about it a different way, would anything had changed?

“Potter.”

Would it have saved more of them?

“Potter?”

Would they still have died?

“Harry?”

They snapped back to attention. Draco looked at them with stinging concern- Just like Luna, just like Ginny, just like Ron and Hermione before them.

Not you too, Malfoy.

Not you.

Hook ups were meant to be inconsequential.

“I’m fine.” Harry said, lying. When Draco remained unconvinced, that was when they noticed the tears that had been streaming down their face.

Disgusting.

“We’re almost at your place.”

“Yup.” They wiped their face off, and put on a smile. “Sorry about that. I started thinking about things.”

“It’s okay.” Came the gentle answer. “I think about things a lot, these days.”

Without a word, they headed into the apartment building, and stumbled into the silent lift.

There was a moment where Draco wondered if it would be insensitive to still suggest sex after that conversation, but that moment ended when Harry shoved him against the wall, catching him in a hot, passionate kiss.

If that’s how you like your poison, Potter, then I’m in no position to argue. I never was. I can’t argue with you.

After all, he thought, I’m no better.

* * *

They were lying next to each other, gently embraced. Hook-ups are for lonely people, granted- But often, it felt lonelier lying next to someone who wasn’t having sex with you because they loved you. Harry used to hate that feeling. Now it’s just another thing to fill with more bodies, more people.

“How many people have you slept with, Harry?”

“I lost count after twenty.”

“Is this a nightly thing, for you?”

“No.” They said, because it was true. “I exaggerate a lot. Of course it isn't a nightly thing. I’m not that good of a charmer, and honestly I attract more trouble than it’s worth. My entire school history says that.”

They both laughed at that, or rather chuckled, because it was true.

“I am surprised, though,” Harry admitted, “that Blaise didn’t tell you about me back in school.”

“How would Blaise know?”

“Hogwarts had like, an unofficial trans mentorship thing. Blaise helped me through my transition, most of the years. Taught me how to bind. Sirius signed a consent form to let me transition…” Harry chuckled. “It was a good time, honestly, if you discount the rest of the nonsense I had to put up with at school. Gryffindors can be real pricks.”

“It would reflect badly on me if I agreed with you wholeheartedly, you know.”

“You don’t have to agree.” Harry said, agreeing without saying so. They were used to talking vaguely like that, agreeing to disagree, knowing what to say, what not to say.

They loved their friends- But despite everything, they were alone. That was still what everything amounted to, in the end. Left to deal with the burning pyres, the blood on their hands, the stories they had to carry. Things they had to do, things where they simply had no choice.

“You know, everything about our school years was fucked up.” Draco said, almost too suddenly. “I was born to two Death Eaters and I was taught to hate you if you wouldn’t ditch your friends for me. And like- You were doing the right thing — sticking by your friends. Somehow I just hated you my entire life because some prick who called himself my father told me to do it. Yes daddy, I’ll do as you tell me, Daddy. I’ll run home and cry to you about Harry Potter being a meanie again, Daddy.”

He smiled as he said that, because it made Harry laugh. Despite the hollow sound, Draco figured it was better than nothing.

“I hated you my entire life- Like, for what? And honestly, I didn’t even start thinking about this until after I graduated Hogwarts. Then somehow it started to sort of… click in? I guess I started to realise how hard it must’ve been for you to have to deal with the likes of me, on top of everything.”

“Just because someone’s going through shit doesn’t mean your pain is discount.”

“Yes, Potter. I know that much.” He smirked. “You should learn it too, y’know.”

Harry grimaced, and Draco laughed.

“Blaise taught Pansy and I a lot about this idea of… I dunno. Not being an ass? I mean— I stopped listening to my parents’ opinion around the same time I had to start stepping up. I mean, I didn’t really think the word _Mudblood_ was an appropriate thing to say anymore, per se, but if I avoided it, my damned Auntie would’ve thrown me to the wolves.”

Draco sucked in a deep breath. Harry listened to the quiet, the unpleasant quiet. They weren’t sure if paying attention to Draco Malfoy’s words was meant to mean anything, but here they were, listening.

“I think you’re burning up, Harry Potter.” He said, finally. “You’re burning, just like I did. Neither of us had a choice, you know. Not with this, not with our lives.”

Harry turned away from Draco. It was true- But they weren’t sure if they wanted to hear it from Malfoy.

Not long after the war ended, it seemed as if Harry Potter had fallen out of the world. That is, they ceased to exist. The main news platforms stopped knowing what to report, choosing, instead, to hone in on Neville Longbottom and the others, generals of the uprising. Harry felt bad- But not bad enough to return.

Instead, they chose to convert some of their Potter vault into Muggle cash (which turned out to be a genius decision, economically speaking) and find themselves somewhere to be, far from Magic. They bought a used Muggle car and started driving South, away from everything. As far as that dingy car would take them from the world of Magic that had housed them, taught them everything they knew, and ultimately got them and others killed. They tried not to think of the night where someone ripped the grilles off their window, flew them home, and a little bit later, to school.

They stayed in dingy motels, for some nights. Others, they slept in their car. They had driven so much- At one point ending up in Paris, which was an almost welcome surprise. Harry never paid that much attention to the route they were taking, as much as they paid attention to the petrol meter, how long before they would have to stop and top up.

Paris, however, was the moment they realised that they should care about the destination a little. Though it was quite lovely, despite Harry’s horrible grasp on French. They could get around just fine, but it didn't feel right.

They returned to England after a few days. They set about looking for somewhere to go, somewhere they could just let themselves just be.

The bright neon sign of _Somewhere Queer_ greeted them one particularly chilly night. Their car had just run out of petrol after a fruitless night of searching for a kiosk, so they were stuck outside the club. They had sighed, resigned, and entered.

It was noisy, in that space. A bouncer checked their drivers license (with falsified credentials) and their pockets (wandless) and waved them through. They had never been in a Muggle club before- Much less an LGBT space. The music was loud- stuff they usually only heard on the fuzzy, old radio of their beat up used car. It was dark, lit mostly by pink and blue lights- save for the rainbow decor.

It felt safe, somehow, as Olive gave Harry a brutally honest recommendation on drinks, as Fizzy recognised them as The One Who Lived and helped call someone to bring some petrol to the car. Then she asked if they had a place to stay.

“I have a car.” Harry said.

“That’s not a place.” Fizz replied.

Harry camped out in her house for weeks, learning her name was Jolene Ho and that she had chosen to disengage from the Wizarding World before they did, not long after her coming out. It was too dangerous to stay home, or go back to Hogwarts.

Later, Harry would get their own place, close enough to the club but far enough to be near things like supermarkets. It felt good, to have somewhere to be, and somewhere to go. Olive was sweet and the music was loud, the dancing was always fun, and Harry realised that some Muggles found them attractive without prior knowledge of their history- nothing about that life of running and hiding and war and dying.

That’s all I wanted, really.

They thought, between the beers and the hot kisses pressed into drunken lips, between the late-night conversations and the silent, echoing cuddling between two strangers. Just this would be enough, just to be someone’s vague, insignificant memory. That was enough, to just forget. To be whoever they would be, could be. Whatever they wanted.

And now, here they are. Lying in bed with Draco Malfoy, who was shifting under the sheets, falling asleep. Mumbling good-nights and apologies. Something about insensitivity. It started to feel as if all that Malfoy had been doing since they met again was apologise.

You have nothing to apologise for, Malfoy. You had no choice. You chose to protect those you loved. You did nothing wrong.

Unlike me.

Harry tucked themselves in, knowing that by morning come, there will be no escaping.

* * *

Harry woke up to the smell of something burning, some cursing, and panicked the entire way into the kitchen. Draco Malfoy — wearing his own shirt this time — was there, standing over a frying pan of burnt bacon, glaring like the bacon had offended him personally. As Draco made eye contact with Harry, the look melted into being apologetic.

“I tried to make breakfast.” He sighed. “I’m not a very good cook.”

“I can tell.”

And so, Draco Malfoy sat uncomfortably at the table, as the sizzling of fresh, un-burnt bacon wafted through the air, permeating the dark space. It was oddly comforting.

He decided to take this chance to look around him. It was a small but comfortable two-bedroom apartment, with a plain futon couch and a rainbow pride flag hanging behind the television set. It was a pretty empty place, especially given Harry Potter’s status. But then again, he thought, Potter isn’t that sort of person.

There truly wasn’t much else in the place. The lights were dim, there was another bedroom with a locked door. Why rent a two-bedroom when you only use one of the rooms? Didn’t seem to make sense. A trans flag hung by the door, sticking out of a flowerpot with a dead plant inside it. Professor Sprout would’ve tutted at that.

Well, at least the place was clean.

“Breakfast.” Harry placed a plate of bacon, baked beans and eggs before Draco. “Next time, just wake me.”

“I mean, you made breakfast last time.” He said, sheepishly stabbing at a bean. “Thanks, though.”

“Anytime.”

Harry sat down and began eating, seeming lost in thought. Draco wondered what they could be thinking about.

“Last night was pretty intense.”

“Really? Don’t get me wrong, the sex was great, but—“

“I meant the conversation.” He said, fighting the urge to blush furiously. They laughed at that. “I’m sorry if I crossed a line.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Harry waved a hand dismissively. “It’s not a big deal.”

But it is, Draco thought. You cried. People don’t cry when things are nothing.

An uncomfortable silence settled — which seemed to happen a lot, with Harry Potter. Shouldn’t they at least have questions for him, even generic shit like ‘Do you still watch Quidditch games’ or something like that? He was aware of how much change he’d gone through, the amount of progress he made in the short time after the war. He knew things about Harry that he never meant to know- But it seemed like they let him in on their life by accident, almost creating an illusion that they knew each other well enough to maintain silence. But they hadn’t. They hated each other for too long for that.

“Hey, Potter,” Draco began, and Harry looked up, almost expectant. “You know you can call me Draco, right?”

He started pushing bits of food around the plate. It seemed small, but it meant something. Harry looked away.

“I know now.” They replied. Draco looked over at them to realise that they were trying to hide their expression, which was that of forced stoicism and wavering apathy. He almost smirked. “You can call me Harry, if you want.”

“I’ll do that then. It’s good, that we’re talking like this. We never would’ve gotten to this point if it was school.”

“You were the rich son of Lord Voldemort’s right-hand-man.” Harry shrugged. “And I was the Chosen One. We were sort of pit against each other from the start.”

“And you were a Gryffindor. I was a Slytherin. We were pit against each other from the start.”

“I wonder where these house rivalries begin. Who was the one who said that Gryffindor was the Ideal house and Slytherin was the Evil house?” Harry shuddered, almost disgusted. “I don’t think it’s fair anymore, honestly.”

“There shouldn’t be house rivalry. I mean- Houses are fun to have, I think. But to sort us into these personality groups when we’re what, eleven? And then pit these houses together? Tell eleven-year-olds that they’re either Awesome, Smart, Evil or Others? That’s just unfair. Eleven-year-old me was an asshole but that shouldn’t have been excused through some dumb hat’s judgement.”

Harry watched Draco express his distaste for sorting. Harry smiled. It truly felt good to talk to someone about something like that- Things that they couldn’t talk to Muggles about. Sure, they could talk to Jolene, but they much preferred to talk about other things with her.

“You really have changed, huh,” they said, almost off-handedly, “I never knew that was possible.”

“Hey, I had to work hard at it, okay? There was a lot to unlearn. A lot of books were read. I don’t believe in eighty percent of what I used to believe in when I was a dumb teenager. I was a fucking asshole.”

“You had no choice, really. It’s how you were raised. When you’re rich you sort of just internalise that idea that people who aren’t rich are just lazy and don’t deserve respect, and therefore are beneath you.”

“Yes yes, that’s one thing. But the other thing I had to unlearn was this big blood purity manifesto that an actual snake-man with no nose decided to push. Like really, what the hell?” Draco shovelled the last bit of baked bean into his mouth, and Harry laughed. To be having such a serious conversation with an old rival and also watch him shovel a pile of food into his mouth at the same time? Money can’t buy that. “To be honest, I think what fuelled my weird Pureblood Supremacy beliefs was probably jealousy of Hermione Granger.”

“No, really?”

“I mean, probably! You’re friends with her, you tell me.”

Harry thought for a moment.

“Alright, fair enough.”

“You did cut me into ribbons though. That woke me up.”

“Oh god, yeah, I did that.” They buried their face into their hands. “I am so sorry about that. It was kind of an impulse and I genuinely don’t know what I was thinking. I promise you I had no idea what the spell was gonna do- I found it in my potions book and turns out Severus Snape came up with it.”

“Wow yikes, my godfather thought of that? And then it wound up almost killing me? What kind of guy comes up with a spell like that?”

“A guy who thinks he can yearn after my mom for ten-odd years and automatically be forgiven for all the shit he did because apparently he was trying to protect my ass for her sake. Sure, Severus.”

“What a man.”

“Indeed.”

Draco carried the plates to the kitchen. Harry’s eyes followed him, even after he had set the dishes down, run the tap and started to scrub at the surface.

“I’ll do them the Muggle way, don’t worry about it.” He said without looking up.

“I didn’t think you were gonna do the dishes any other way.”

“You were staring at me as if you expected me to.”

“Right.”

Harry turned away. They wondered how to put this back into words- The feeling of alienation in one’s own house. The distance between them and their own life. How do you talk about that?

“I just don’t like other people doing the cleaning in my house, I guess.”

“Why?”

“I like cleaning. I think it’s comforting. It feels weird when someone else is doing it. Feels wrong.”

“You cooked.” Draco said, drying off a plate and replacing it on the top shelf. “I’ll do the dishes, if you make breakfast.”

“I suppose that’s fair. But you’re a guest.”

“It’s fine.” He smiled. “Washing dishes this way is quite therapeutic as well.”

And so it was. Harry awkwardly inspected the top shelf as Draco made final checks that he hadn’t left anything behind. Harry saw him off at the front door, and Draco took a short pause.

“You know, we’re not teenagers anymore.”

“Very astute observation.”

“Thank you for noticing, Harry. But I think that maybe you haven’t really realised that, yet. Listening to you, and talking to you… It’s like you never left Hogwarts. That’s why I said that it feels as though you’re burning, but you aren’t really trying to put yourself out, y’know?”

“No, Draco, I don’t want to hear it from you. You’ve just met me, you don’t know the half of it.”

“Like I said before, Harry, I can guess.” He said, putting his shoes back on. “It’s not hard to realise these things about you. It took me a while, too, but I have fewer burdens to bear. You had the entire wizarding world on your back.”

“Focus on yourself. Don’t drop your load to talk to me about this.”

“Oh shut up, Harry Potter.” Draco snapped. “I’m not here to save you. You keep telling me not to discount my problems. How about you follow your own advice, first?”

And that was that.

Harry closed the door and leaned against it, listening to the crack of Apparation, of Draco Malfoy disappearing somewhere. They wondered if he was right. Their phone was buzzing with messages, still, from friends and acquaintances and booty calls alike. They wondered if they really should listen to Draco Malfoy, of all people.

Their phone was ringing. It almost always is.

“Hey, Ron.”

“Hey mate.”

Awkward silence.

“… What’s up?”

“Hermione and I planning dinner tonight. We were wondering if you wanted to come over. It’s been a while since we talked, y’know, face to face. Kinda odd to say but like, I do miss you a little.” There was a smack. “Ow! Okay, okay, I miss you a lot. Come over for dinner, mate. I’m making ravioli.”

“I would really love to, but-“

“Oh come off it,” Ron seemed annoyed, but his tone returned to a much gentler one soon after. “All you do is drink yourself to death and then shag anything that moves. You can spare one night from that life to hang out with your best friends.”

They really, really hated it when other people were right.

“Alright, alright. Pick me up at seven.”

“Six.”

Harry sighed.

“Fine.”


	4. Everything is Temporary

Harry didn’t like being in Ron and Hermione’s space. Or at least, not as much as they used to. The two had gone off and struck out a life for themselves, carving out what they needed - wanted - from each other ever since before the war began. Harry understood, this was important to them. But it felt that as soon as they made room for themselves, Harry was removed from their equation.

So it was times like these that Harry did not look forward to.

But they chopped potatoes, they checked on the oven and wormed around Ron’s gangly self to remove the soup from the hob. It’s hard to believe, but soups _can_ and _will_ burn. Especially soups with cream, soups with potatoes, soups that have been stewing for _a while._ Harry had a knack for things like that, cooking, baking, all kinds of things. Not that they ever had much _talent_ about it, per se, but growing up in the Dursley house taught them not to mind the splattering of oil or the arduous processes of simultaneous, Muggle-style cooking. They’re a good cook, they figured, but sometimes they wished it was for any other reason.

Ron, surprisingly, was also a good cook.

“Hey, mate, it’s okay if you want to just hang out. I got this, Hermione will be back with the wine in like, a minute.”

“No, no it’s okay. I don’t like it when I’m not doing anything while you guys do all the work.”

“You’re my _best friend_.” Ron said, taking over the stir-fry that Harry had busied themselves with. “Shut up and eat a cheese slice.”

There was a cheese plate that Hermione had laid out before rushing to get them some wine (that she would not be having), having used the last of it on something else. Grumbling, Harry helped themselves to an infuriatingly delicious bit of brie.

“What have you been up to, Ron?” Harry asked, now forced to lean back against a counter and confront the existence of their friend.

“Uhh, not a whole lot, really. I mean, trying to get myself hyped up for baby. Happy accidents, y’know?” He chuckled nervously. “No, really I’ve just been working, trying to save ‘Mione from all those horrible midnight cravings, like it’s getting wilder. Literally last night she woke up _really_ wanting to just eat some mustard. Just, dumping that out on a plate and eating it with a spoon. It was crazy.”

“Sounds tough.” Harry shoved another piece of cheese into their mouth, not entirely sure of what they just ate. It was nutty and salty, but still good. They decided that it was gruyère.

“It’s nothing for me. She’s the one who’s pregnant. I mean, so far so good- she’s been excited about picking out baby clothes, but not enjoying the weight gain.” 

“She looks alright to me.”

“Same here, I still think she’s lovely. But I think it’s mainly hormones, so it’s like the body issues are hitting her in the face for the first time since we left school.”

School. Did he have trouble saying Hogwarts, too? Harry never noticed.

 _“I think you’re burning up, Harry Potter.”_ Said Draco Malfoy.

Maybe Ron is, too. 

Harry looked down at their sensible hoodie and t-shirt. They would’ve dressed _much_ cuter, if it hadn’t felt hard to see their friends again after so long. Harry hadn’t seen them since Hermione was in her first trimester. 

“What’s going on with you, mate?” Ron asked, finally finishing the stir-fried beans that Harry was originally attending to, and dumping it out into a bowl. “Other than alcohol and sex.” 

“Alcohol and sex.” They replied cheekily, but then they shrugged. “I don’t really need to work, anyway.” 

“That’s true. What’s going on with you and Malfoy? Ginny-“ 

“Ginny told you, didn’t she.” Harry sighed, and helped themselves to a bit of grape from the cheese board. “It’s not a big deal, you know. I know Hermione flipped, and I don’t know how to tell her that I’m alright with it. I mean, it’s just sex.” 

“You _know_ that’s not the concern, currently. It’s the fact that you’re doing it with Draco Malfoy.” 

“We’re not teenagers anymore, Ron. I can forgive that much- We were fucking _kids._ He didn’t even want to be a Death Eater, you read the news, you know what he’s been doing for the survivors and the queer community. Shouldn’t that be more than enough?”

“No, Harry,” Ron sighed, picking up the pot of ravioli that he had been keeping warm on the stove, as Hermione returned from the store with the wine (for them) and some sparkling grape juice (for herself). “That’s not it.”

Harry helped to set the table, and Hermione gave them a big hug. They could feel her now-visible bump, and wondered if that meant that they were going to be further from the two of them from then on. Ron gave her a peck on the cheek, and Harry decided to sit themselves down. The jeans stretched uncomfortably, Ron opened the bottle of wine (and sparkling juice) and poured the drinks. This was odd- wrong, even. When did they become adults? The clinking of glasses, Hermione’s pregnancy, Ron working in preparation, the stupid painted baby room.

“Are you alright?” Hermione asked. Harry snapped back to attention, between bites of the ravioli they had served themselves. “You seem a little distant.”

“Hangover, that’s all."

“Do you want some sparkling juice instead of wine?” 

“Absolutely _not.”_

Hermione laughed, and Ron shook his head. Harry smiled. Ron is a good cook- The ravioli was perfect.

“How are you doing, Harry?”

“I’ve been good, actually. I’ve been having a lot of _awesome_ sex lately and the club’s got a new beer coming out.”

“Besides that, Harry.”

“Besides that? I haven’t been doing much else, really.”

Hermione rolled her eyes, spooning some green beans into her plate. Harry noted that she’d taken out some tartar sauce and was eating everything after she’d poured a significant amount of it over the food. Ron seemed unaffected, but they thought it was hilarious and also, mildly disconcerting. Is that good at all? It seemed like a weird combination to be into.

“What have you been up to, Hermione?”

“Work, as always. There haven’t been a whole lot of interesting cases lately, but I think they’re just giving me the minimal-effort stuff because you know,” she gestured to her belly, “baby.”

“That’s not a bad thing, is it?”

“No,” she sighed, “but it’s boring.”

Ron piled a bunch of beans onto Harry’s plate- now making them very aware that they had been avoiding vegetables the entire meal. Beans weren’t exactly their favourite. Harry scowled.

“Eat your veg, mate.”

“You sound like your mother.”

“Fuck yeah. Eat your damn beans, leftovers are a _bitch_ to keep overnight.”

“Language, Ronald.”

“Yes dear.”

Hermione huffed, and Harry smiled. Yes, this is how it’s _meant_ to be. Just three friends, laughing over dinner. That’s how they needed to be, even in moments. This was what Harry needed them to be.

They washed up the dishes together, Harry still scolded into sitting atop their washing-machine, watching as the couple washed and dried together. This is who they were, now. Where they were was meant to be perfect, for just the two of them. There is no room for anyone to ruin that beauty.

Not even Harry.

“Y’know Harry,” Hermione said, wiping her hands dry and ushering him to their living room. “If I hadn’t known any better, I’d say you’re doing alright.”

“I _am_ doing alright.”

“But are you, really? You slept with Draco Malfoy.”

“Twice.”

“Twice?! Harry…”

Ron joined them on the loveseat, throwing an arm around Hermione and looking at Harry with abject concern. It was cramped, the seat was clearly not made for three.

“Really, mate?”

“Yeah, like, just last night. He came over to pick up a shirt and then one thing led to another.”

Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose. Harry shrugged. It wasn’t a big deal, was it? The couple looked at each other, and then back at them. 

“Listen, we _know_ that Draco Malfoy has been making immense strides in order to prove himself. He’s doing so much for everyone, and speaking up where it matters. He’s truly been changing and improving and the press is showing it.” Hermione said, as Ron nodded along. Harry didn’t like that. They felt cornered. 

“We know this is important to you, Harry,” Ron continued. Not you too. “But don’t you think that… you’re going overboard, with this?”

“With _what,_ exactly? I can sleep with whoever the fuck I want—“

“Yeah, mate, that’s not the point.”

“Then what is?”

“The point here is that you’re not _thinking_ about who you’re sleeping with. You’re not really paying attention to safety anymore, you’re just going in thinking you can handle anything. It’s not the fact that you slept with Malfoy, it’s the fact that you don’t seem to realise how incredibly risky that was. You don’t even read the news anymore, you _said_ you don’t read the Daily Prophet anymore. The real reason why you know what Draco Malfoy’s been up to lately is because you _looked it up_ to justify it. Am I wrong?“ Ron had to take a breath. Hermione squeezed his hand. Harry looked away, unwilling to answer. But Ron was right, he had always been sharp, observant, quick to pick up on things. Harry, in comparison, had never really known anything in their life.

“It’s starting to feel like you don’t care about yourself anymore.” Hermione said softly.

Worrying is bad for the baby, Harry wanted to say. But they knew that would lead to another can of worms, their tendency to love too hard, care too much.

“I’m alright.” They said instead, quieter than expected. “I’ll be more careful, okay? Don’t worry about it.”

Hermione sighed. Ron fell back against the couch.

But that was that.

The conversation wouldn’t hold itself down after that. It couldn’t. Everyone tried to move on from the topic. Even Ron. But the company had exhausted itself, and there was nothing left to say. Eventually, Hermione excused herself to go get a pint of ice-cream from the kitchen, so Harry got up, ready to leave.

“Oh, Harry?” Hermione said, hurrying up slightly. She ladled some leftover ravioli into a tupperware container, and handed it to them. “For you. I don’t imagine you have a whole lot of time to cook.”

“Thanks, Hermione.”

“And just so you know,” she held on to their hands, squeezing gently, “I know it’s tough, being who you are.”

“It’s not that hard anymore, I think. Especially when I don’t need to read anything that Rita Skeeter writes anymore.”

“No, Harry. I meant being nonbinary. I want you to know that you don’t have to feel as if you need to hide who you are when you come here.”

“I don’t.”

“I see you online, Harry.” She rolled her eyes. “You’re not a jeans and hoodie kind of guy.”

Harry blushed and looked away, their grip tightening on the container of ravioli. Hermione patted them on the shoulder. “I’ll see you around, okay? I’ll make Ron call you over for dinner again sometime.”

“You don’t have to _make_ me call them.” Ron grumbled, getting up to put an arm around her. They saw them off at the door, and Harry smiled airily as they walked away, far from them, and finally flagging down a taxi. They wondered if they should just go home, get some rest, sleep the evening off. Their friends loved them- But they still craved something, now more than ever. Somewhere loud. Somewhere bright. Somewhere… Queer. They checked their watch. It’s still early. They could make it down.

“Do you know where _Somewhere Queer_ nightclub is?”

 

* * *

 

“I don’t know, love,” Jolene sighed, putting down her lovely Piña colada. “They sound lovely. Maybe you’re just stuck in a rut.”

She wasn’t doing a show that night, therefore preferring to use her (recently celebrated) legal name that day. Harry sighed, sipping their beer at their usual counter seat. The jeans were stuffy, the hoodie felt too big and their clothes simply draped around uncomfortably. Harry never liked presenting that way. It reminded them of older times.

“I don’t know either. I _like_ them. They’re supposed to be my best friends and all, but…”

“I get you. It felt like that too when I left Hogwarts.” She put a hand on Harry’s shoulder, and they allowed their forehead to meet the counter with a soft _thunk_.

Olive stretched as they walked by, having just returned to quickly cover the bartender who was meant to be on the current shift- but was late. They did a double take.

“You look terrible, Harry.” They said, filling up a glass of ice water. Water was always free, and that was what Olive offered whenever they could. “Oh- Hey there Jo, what’s going on with our baby?”

Jolene rolled her eyes. Harry made a noise that resembled a groan. 

“They met up with some close friends earlier today and realised that they’re all moving on with their lives.”

“Ouch. I get that. It happened with me too, after I came out. A bunch of people I thought were my best friends figured that they didn’t actually like me very much but didn’t have half the decency to just tell me.” They said, noting the emptiness of the club that night. It’s a Monday night- Nobody goes to the club on a _Monday._ That was good. That meant less work for them.

“It’s not your fault that you didn’t notice, Libby.” Harry said, their voice still muffled by the table. Olive chuckled, and pat them on the head. “But it’s mine for not wanting to accept it.”

“Harry, maybe it’s time to consider the wild possibility that you’re not committing a crime by wanting your friendships to stay the same.” Jolene said, shaking them gently. “You’re going through some rough shit, my dear.”

“I just want to get fucked and get drunk, that’s not too much to ask for, is it?”

“No, but it’s true that it’s not healthy to live like that.” She shrugged. Olive nodded in agreement when they lifted their head, and then they squinted at Harry’s outfit.

“Dude, what are you wearing?”

“A hoodie and jeans.”

“For _what?”_

“I’m overcompensating.”

“The self-awareness is extremely alarming.” Olive crossed their arms. “I have a change of clothes, if you want.”

“I don’t have my binder today, so no thanks. The hoodie hides all the nonsense anyway.”

Jolene rubbed Harry sympathetically on the back, noting the true sadness in which they conveyed their tone. Someone sat down on the other end of the bar, and Olive sighed, leaving them to attend to the new patron.

“Are you still thinking of top surgery, love?”

“I guess. Sometimes I like my chest, but only when a straight guy is on top of me. I don’t know if I want to lose that experience, it does feel nice when someone else is touching me.”

“It _only_ feels nice when there’s someone else validating them, you mean.” She said pointedly, raising her Piña colada to her lips. They shrugged. There was a strange moment of silence as Jolene set the drink down, put her hands together as if praying, but bringing them to her lips and then pointing both hands at Harry. “Baby, you need to love yourself more. Stop dealing with extended periods of intense, unbearable discomfort for moments of validation. Stop that, okay?”

“Easy for _you_ to say. You dance on stage for a living, you don’t need external validation, you’re self-sufficient that way.”

“You’re wrong, Harry Potter.” She said, poking at Harry’s cheek. “I’m Chinese, okay, my entire family was subscribed to this toxic cultural practice of denying children of validation necessary to their growth. If anything, I now need constant attention and validation in order to function. It just so happens that my passion in life involves taking money directly from people’s hands, which is _extremely_ validating.”

Harry rolled their eyes, wrapping their arms around her waist. She smiled and returned the hug, squeezing gently.

“My friends were asking me if I’m going to the Hogwarts Veterans’ night.” Harry mumbled. “I don’t really want to.”

“Then don’t go.”

“I haven’t seen most of those people in a _really_ long time, though. I feel like I should.”

“You’re not obligated to.” She pat him gently on the head. “But if you need backup, I can go with you. I’ll go in drag, even, just to take everyone’s eyes off you.”

“That wouldn’t work, but thanks for trying.”

“Excuse me, _rude._ I’ll have you know that I steal the show whenever I’m in drag, okay? I’m Fizzy Soda, _bitch._ ”

She flipped her hair over her shoulder, huffing dramatically. That made Harry laugh out loud, despite themselves, and leaned against her. Jolene squeezed their shoulders, and pressed a gentle kiss to their forehead.

“You’re doing just fine, baby.” She said, ruffling their hair. “And no matter what happens, I’m here for you. I see you, and not the dumb titles that other people have given you. You are Harry Potter, my friend and drag baby.”

“Thanks, Jo.” They mumbled. “Even though I’m not actually your drag child.”

“Shhhh. Nobody needs to know.”

They laughed. Jolene had a way, somehow, to make the world feel better. She could light rooms on fire with her laugh.

“Do you wanna crash at my house for tonight? Maybe not be alone?”

“That sounds amazing, actually.” Harry said softly. Olive walked over to them, car keys in hand.

“Hey, my shift’s over. Do you kids need a ride?” They asked, twirling the keys with a smile. “I take friendship as a form of currency.”

“I’ll give you some cash for petrol regardless, Libby. Why don’t you come hang out with us? You never hang out with us.”

“Nah, I’m gonna go home and hang out with my wife. No offence to you two, but there’s literally no one else I would rather spend a Monday night with right now.” Olive said with a mischievous smirk. Jolene rolled her eyes and gave them a playful push, as the two got up from their seats to follow them out the employees-only exit. Harry followed a bit behind the two of them, until Jolene linked arms with them and pulled them along, smiling pleasantly. Almost as if it was nothing- But it wasn’t.

Nothing is ever just nothing. And everything is temporary- even memories. But Jolene was laughing with them in the backseat. And Harry Potter could breathe, just for a bit.

 _“You are burning, Harry Potter.”_  

Yes, Draco Malfoy.

I suppose I am.

 


	5. Capsize

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: Homophobia, Biphobia, Attempted Drugging, Narcissistic Parenting

Harry loved Jolene’s house. First of all, they used to live there, so there was always that sense of belonging in her space. Second of all, Jolene’s house always smelled of baked goods. Something was always in the oven. Something was always ready to pop into the oven or on the hob to finish cooking. It was welcoming- with a giant pride flag crudely painted on the wall behind the couch, and house plants everywhere.

But in this particular visit, it was late at night and Harry already had dinner. So they ate some leftover cherry pie that she had baked a day ago, which she kept frozen in the refrigerator, paired with some rosé.

This was the one place where Harry didn’t mind seeing and experiencing magic. Jolene liked to keep things a little bit magical, making her ceilings reflect starlight that one would rarely see beneath the city’s light pollution, so that they could both lie back on the fuzzy white rug in her living room and watch the stars sparkle.

Harry liked that, and they liked that some of the paintings moved- She liked beautiful paintings made by local artists, and the paintings that moved weren’t portraits, just rivers and waterfalls and mountains and skies. One was a little watercolour print of a piece of cake, except the whipped cream were plump cats and occasionally, the cats would stretch and yawn.

One of the rare places where magic was okay. Maybe because it was Jolene’s place- and her place filled their little heart with a childlike wonder that hadn’t been felt for years.

“Y’know, Jo, I would really like to try out drag someday. Like, do something with all this excess energy.” They said, looking at the magical sky, feeling full of pie and sugar. Jolene’s eyes were closed and she was happily lying in silky pajamas.

Merlin, Harry thought, this woman really is living her best life.

“Go ahead and raid my drag closet for stuff, if you wanna. I can help you with makeup, but would you be okay?”

“What do you mean?”

“Your dysphoria, love.” She said, patting Harry’s hair. They shrugged.

“I still wanna try, I like being in touch with my feminine side on my own terms. I don’t think it’s the same as having no choice but to _be_ feminine. That’s why I still want top surgery, y’know? Even though I’m all crop tops and short shorts.”

“That’s a healthy attitude to have. If only you could apply that to the rest of your life.”

“I didn’t come here to get called out, Fizz _._ ”

Jolene laughed, ruffling Harry’s hair much to their protest. She sighed, sitting up to take a sip of her rosé. She leaned against her elbow on her side, and Harry sighed up at the ceiling.

“Can I be honest?”

“Ideally, that’s what I’d love to hear from you more often.”

“ _Jolene._ ”

“Carry on.”

Harry sucked in a deep breath.

“I kind of want to see Draco more often. Like, don’t get me wrong, I know our history very well and I know what he represents as a whole, but all of my body- not literally- really wants to just… get to know him better, somehow?”

“Darlin, you’ve already stalked him online.” Jolene said, and they rolled their eyes.

“I meant like, in person. I just- I don’t know.”

“I get you, baby.” She mumbled.

They sighed again, sitting up and taking a long sip of rosé. They really did love hanging out with Jolene, why did they ever move out?

For the sake of independence, they supposed, and because they started to feel bad for bringing strangers into her space. But it was good to return, it felt good to know that there was always someone in their corner, even if it wasn’t the people they had hoped to bring into Adulthood. They hugged their knees and sighed.

“If I see Draco Malfoy in the club I’ll be sure to direct him over to you.” Jolene offered helpfully. Harry smiled.

“Thanks, Jo. You’re the best.”

“I know I am, sweetie.” She smiled, and flipped her hair dramatically. They rolled their eyes, but raised their glass, and she clinked it with hers.

“He’s said a lot of stuff that’s still milling around in my head. I don’t think I like it very much.”

“What’s he said?”

“Stuff about burning. Being on fire. I’d said it before, but honestly, what does that even mean?” Harry said out loud, knowing exactly what he meant. But they weren't about to admit it.

“I have no idea, baby.” She took a sip of her rosé. “But it sounds like a good metaphor for how you’re slowly killing yourself. Does that make sense?”

“Sure, if I’m Ginny Weasley.”

“Just because you’re in therapy doesn’t mean you’re not on fire, love.”

“Alright, fine.”

Harry had been going to a wizarding therapist. It was a decision they didn’t want to make- But Jolene pushed them to do it, so they did. The therapist was nice enough, she listened and asked the right questions and didn’t really push too hard. But they always found themselves hesitant to speak, preferring to smile and nod and let silence build.

They were lucky- in that they had the money to find a good therapist, one who was willing to listen. But what about those who couldn’t afford it? Those who must live with demons without help? Harry felt their stomach churn, their head pounding against their skull.

Unknown to everyone else, they hadn’t been going. They stopped their appointments, ages and ages ago. And they told no one. And even now, Jolene still thought that they would be getting better, working through it all. Maybe that was why it started being so hard to talk to her about it.

“I want to be a good person, y’know?” They said at last, lying back down on the ground. A comet shot across their starry sky and Harry wondered if they should have made a wish. But what would they even wish for?

“You _are_ a good person, Harry.”

“Not yet, I don’t think.” They said, and their heart screamed _liar._

“No, Harry. You are a good person, and you deserve so much better. You think so much about everyone else. You love so hard- but you always forget to be kind to yourself.” She put a hand on their cheek, and their bones screamed _stop._

Jolene should have been dead to them a long time ago, deep in their heart. Any person who had ever told them that they were good, that they deserved better or that they were worthy of anything better than the worst, everyone who had ever said anything kind to them, was dead to them.

Everyone, except Jolene.

That was why Harry leaned into her touch, feeling the tip of her stiletto nails scrape gently against their cheek as she touched his nose.

“You know that you’re the only person who can say that to me, right?” Harry mumbled, and she laughed.

“I know now.”

“Good.” They said, holding her hand. “So now you know that I like you a lot, _Mom._ ”

“Eww, affection? From Harry Potter? The sky must be falling.”

“ _Fizzy.”_

“I know, darling.” She hugged them tightly, pressing their face into her chest. She smelled like roses and cookies. Harry liked this scent, it felt like home.

They made themselves comfortable on Jolene’s bed, as the two snuggled together like a pair of giggly teenagers at a slumber party- though it technically _was_ a slumber party. They liked that feeling- the sense that everything was going to be okay. Their life seemed to revolve around falling asleep in different beds, but these moments were times that they didn’t mind. Moments that they felt loved, even in the platonic sense. Any moment like that was necessary, was wanted.

“Goodnight, Harry.”

“Nights, Jo.”

 

* * *

 

The Malfoy Manor is always cold. There are enough fireplaces- but there was always something hanging in the air. Particularly at dinnertime.

“How was your day, Draco?” Narcissa asked, as Draco tried to finish off his plate as quickly as possible. Avoiding that question was always the goal of every second he had spent at dinner, ever since he turned eighteen. He didn’t feel comfortable at the table anymore, and today was particularly hard. He wasn’t really in the mood to answer- But his mother was sharp enough to ask quickly, today.

“Good.” He answered shortly. She remained unconvinced.

“How is Pansy Parkinson?”

“Uh, doing alright?”

“Is she still writing for the Daily Prophet?”

“Mother, you _read_ the Daily Prophet.”

She tutted, and his father handed his plates off to one of their house-elves. Dobby’s replacement. Draco still felt bad, and usually took his own plate down to the kitchen under the guise of getting more food, but it was to save the elves the trouble. They’ve been doing enough as is, and he was starting to see them for the sad reality of their existence. Slave labour, all it is. Even if the slaves themselves accept their fate, it is still wrong- but it’s not like he could secretly free them, either. That was Granger’s job. If he did it, the elves really would not take it very well, given their own personal working culture.

Their need for work didn’t mandate the slavery- it felt like things were better for them before humans decided to inherit the earth and enslave them. Before that, they worked for nothing other than the promise of honey and bread, and if paid they would’ve tricked humans into submission. There was an exchange there- and they were slightly feared.

Maybe humanity seeks to entrap and destroy the things they fear. Maybe that is why this happened.

He too, finished his dinner. He stayed at the table for a few moments, watching his father depart, his footsteps, along with his cane, clicking away as he left. It was a ploy, a tactic to hide the way he was weak. Men of that age, Draco thought, tended to pretend to be tougher. The defeat was heavier for his father than it was for his mother. He wondered why.

“When are you planning to settle down, Draco?” His mother asked, dabbing at her mouth with a napkin. He hated that question.

“I’m sure you know the answer to that.”

“You’re not getting any younger, my dear.” She said, handing her plate to one of the house elves who had just arrived to begin clearing their dinner table. “Don’t you think it’s time to stop playing around? I understood it when you were younger, but now…”

“Bisexuality isn’t a _phase,_ mother.” He snapped, picking up his plate and walking away with the house-elves. One reached for his plate and he refused. “I’ll take this myself, thanks.” Merlin, he didn’t even know their _names._

He managed to get to his room, and locked the door. He always locked it- just in case.

It was easier to say that he was closeted than it was to explain the complications of their dynamics, or the coldness of the table at night.

He thought about the nightclub. He’d been to queer spaces before, both Wizard and Muggle. Blaise liked the Wizard spaces more, because of the drinks that they had. But he took Draco and Pansy to both, for the purpose of exposure. The idea was to get them to realise that queer people were connected, no matter whether they were magical or not. It must have worked, because Draco decided that he _liked_ being in both queer spaces.

His mother was the closest family member he had, and her reaction was the closest he could find to acceptance. She only gave him a word, one of resignation, and his father did not grant him an answer. If it had been a different world, one where he still had more than a scar on his right forearm, maybe he would have been thrown out. But he could have died in a castle, all alone. Perhaps that meant that the family had something to lose, if you could call them that.

His mother still held out hope for the chance of him settling down with a woman of equal status (She hinted strongly at Pansy Parkinson) and carrying on the bloodline. Draco refused. He will marry whoever the hell he damn pleased, man or woman, Pureblood or not.

Draco lay back on his bed, in the bedroom where he grew up. Spoiled rotten, loved the wrong way. He had everything, all the toys he had wanted, the very best brooms, all the knickknacks and trinkets he wanted. But ultimately, what were his requests if not a miscommunications to his real wants?

Without really thinking, he took out his phone to see who he could text.

His parents were mostly against Muggle technology, but Draco didn’t really care. He had charmed his phone to work even in Magical spaces, just like everyone else did. Like jailbreaking, he thought, but magic.

Harry’s last seen was a long time past, and he wasn’t sure if they would reply. But he sent a text anyway.

 

**_Draco:_ ** _Hey, what are you up to?_

**_Harry:_** _Heya, I’m on my way to_ SQ, _will I be seeing you there?_

**_Draco:_ ** _Not tonight, sorry._

 

He watched Harry’s text bubble pop up, but then it disappeared. He wondered what to say next- It really annoyed him when he couldn’t just figure out what anyone else was going to say next. In a way, he liked it better when he was still good at Legilimens, but it was unethical, so he stopped using it.

 

**_Draco:_ ** _How was your day?_

Great, now he sounds like his mother.

**_Harry:_ ** _Uhhh, it was ok. I went to Ron and Hermione’s for dinner, but that’s it._

**_Draco:_ ** _Wow, free food and then hitting the clubs on a Monday? You really are living your best life._

**_Harry:_ ** _Am I now?_

**_Harry:_ ** _I’m just meeting Fizz for a drink and like, a chat._

**_Draco:_ ** _Sounds like a good time._

**_Harry:_ ** _Haha, maybe._

 

And the conversation stopped cold again. Draco wanted to drop his phone on his face, if it could produce more creative text messages to send. He wasn’t great at texting.

Then came a knock at his door, and he sighed. He dropped his phone into a drawer by his bed and went to open it. His mother was on the other side, carrying a tray with some biscuits and tea. There were two cups.

“May I enter, Draco?”

“Sure.”

He stepped aside to let her in. He knew that she wanted something of him- otherwise she would’ve just asked a house-elf to bring him the biscuits. He sighed deeply, but as quietly as he could so as not to alert her to his emotional state.

“You ate very little at dinner.” She said, setting the tray down on his messy desk. She handed him a cup, and gracefully sipped her tea. “I worry it was insufficient.”

“It’s the same amount as I always eat, Mother.” He said, holding the cup but never taking a moment to drink. She looked at his desk, tutting her clear disapproval. She never really approved of anything.

“And your room is in disarray as always. I’ll have a House-Elf come and clean it for you tomorrow.”

“Don’t.” He sighed. “Is there something you need, Mother?”

Yes, she said wordlessly. Draco braced for impact, and she took a seat beside him on his bed.

“No.” She said, and he nearly jumped. “There is just something I want to ask.”

“Alright.”

“Why are you resistant to seeing women, Draco?”

“I’m not.” He said, wandlessly - and wordlessly - allowing the teacup to float back to the tray. “I just don’t want it to be compulsory.”

She seemed to consider his words, as she took another poised sip of tea. Draco felt as if his mother was always considering something, like she was always too elegant to seem like a real person. He still couldn’t see his mother as anything but a mechanical doll, sometimes. Sometimes she just seemed like an obstacle rather than a real person.

“You do realise that what you’re doing means that you would be jeopardising the family bloodline, don’t you?”

“I don’t know how to tell you that I don’t care.”

“You should care, my son.” She said, in a low, deceptively unthreatening tone. “I don’t know how to tell you that, either.”

You don’t know how to tell me anything. He thought, but did not say. That was the way they were, wordless, full of silences.

“Your father won’t say anything, but I will. You _need_ to understand, Draco. This is what’s important to us, to this _family._ You don’t want to end up like your uncle Sirius, do you?”

“What, dead and betrayed by his own family?”

“Blood traitors get what comes to them, Draco.” His mother took another sip of her tea. “I would really hate to see you gone from the family tapestry.”

“Is that what it takes, Mother?” He could feel the anger rising from his gut, even as he swallowed it back down. “Even if it meant that I would be miserable for the rest of my life?”

“You wouldn’t be. You have a choice, Draco.”

“On what?”

“On whether you will betray your family or not.”

“No, Mother.” He stood up, and opened the door. “I don’t. You would rather I lied to you for the rest of my life and lived my whole life around _your_ purpose, than to lead the life where I am _true_ to who I love. Bisexuality doesn’t mean I can choose a gender to exclusively date- My lover will take on whatever shape they care to, and I would rather be burned off the tapestry if it meant that I could love whoever I damn please.”

She sighed heavily, and stood up. They’ve had this talk many times before. Draco still stood his ground, no matter what.

“I only want what is best for our family, Draco.”

“If that were true, you would want me to be happy, too.”

She left, closing the door behind her. Draco retrieved his wand from a compartment in his desk. He waved it over the tea to check for poison. It never contained anything other than tea, but he wouldn’t put it beyond his mother to spike it.

He went over the usual checks- Regular poison, Magical poison, Jinxes, Curses-

The tea went purple- meaning it had been spiked. He nearly forgot to breathe. Waving again, he extracted what could only be a potion for control, a form of _Imperius_.

He wanted to seethe, to rage, to storm out to wherever his mother was and scream the walls down. Instead, he vanished the tea, and the biscuits that he suspected where similarly spiked. He didn’t put it beneath her to do something like that- but the fact that she actually did made his skin crawl. Had she fed him anything else, besides this? Had she been planning to do this, should her words fail one too many times?

He fell back into his bed, taking his phone out again. Harry’s last seen was left at the same time he had sent his last reply to Draco’s text-

 

**_Harry:_ ** _Just arrived. I’ll talk to you tomorrow!_

 

A part of him wanted to tell Harry about the events that had transpired, but it felt like it would be too much. 

Instead, he put his phone back in his drawer, and closed his eyes. He was still wearing his clothes from the day, from when he met Pansy in a café for lunch and talked about their lives, their grievances. She had admitted it, that writing felt like a release for her. Journalism had a therapeutic quality to it, hearing stories, letting your emotions through just _enough_ to write things the way they needed to be heard.

Her editor had told her that she had to be unbiased- show no emotion, be neutral- but that wasn’t what she became a writer for. Sometimes, she said, neutrality just meant that you were going to ignore the clear issue. She wasn’t _kind_ about it. But she wasn’t about to swallow her own bile.

Draco wondered what he would do, if he could apply himself somewhere. Unbeknownst to his family, he’d been helping a local group of archivists with compiling a library resource containing biographies or other text pertaining to openly queer witches and wizards. It was small collection for the moment, but he was dead set on helping them despite some protests among the members.

He had spent more time than he would’ve normally cared to in his family’s personal library to see if he could contribute anything. Other times, he looked through bookstores, secret magical sections in certain libraries. He hadn’t been back to Hogwarts to look, but he suspected that Madam Pince, if she was even still working there, would know a thing or two.

In a way, Draco thought, he was truly experiencing his teenage rebellion _now_ , as opposed to when he was actually a teenager. That thought was funny, and he didn't mind the work of a de-facto librarian and archivist anyway.

But most times, Draco lay back in his bed, and feel alien in the house that he had lived all his life. This was where his life had gone- and it was difficult. There were things he had wanted to say to Harry, that he had been trying to convince himself of. In a way, that made him a hypocrite.

 _Better than Potter, anyway,_ he thought, even though he knew it wasn’t true.

Draco knew, and he swallowed that thought. He thought about Blaise, in Fifth year, midway through his magical transition. How many lies was Blaise telling, by proxy of survival? How long had he been hurting Blaise with his offhand comments, when he still included Crabbe and Goyle in their conversations? And more importantly- had he ever actually apologised?

 _Don’t be stupid,_ he shook his head, turning on his side. _You’ve apologised more than once. Blaise had to tell me to stop._

HIs mind was a liar, it was what he was used to. All his life, living a lie of misinformation. He had been believing in ignorance, and that killed his friends, and ultimately, his kindness. Feelings he had to learn to manage again, the wanting to be loved, to be held, to belong. He was always being pulled, pushed, prodded, and his family had always been pulling him along.

In a robe shop filled with the aging smell of fabrics, Draco turned to a young child who would turn out to be Harry Potter, and tried to befriend them. That had meant something, even now.

 _I believed in some stupid shit back then._ He wanted to laugh, but nothing came. If he hadn’t, he and Harry would’ve been friends. If he had been kinder, he would’ve had the friends that he actually wanted- Ronald Weasley, who loved his friends fiercely, Hermione Granger, brilliant, clever, cunning for all the right reasons. Blaise Zambini, Pansy Parkinson.

And Harry.

He put his hands over his face, resisting the blush that was creeping up on him.

Harry Potter, with the pretty green eyes, the sharp wit and all of the kindness that he never had. Harry Potter, who smiled at him in a robe shop even though he had said some stupid shit, and even if it was only out of a confusion and politeness and an act of reflex and survival, they still smiled at him. He felt something in his gut, his whole life, and thought that it was hate. He turned it off, he shut it down. He buried that feeling deep within him until he started to see himself, until he started to understand that feeling.

In the quiet embrace of a café approaching closing time, he admitted to Blaise and Pansy that he had always known that he loved men and women. He expected his friends to laugh, to say they always knew. They must have, given the way they looked at each other, and the way they had smiled.

But Pansy held his hand, and Blaise said “That’s great, Draco.”

“There’s one more thing.” He mumbled, turning pink. “I think I had a crush on Harry Potter.”

“I really want to be surprised, Draco.” Pansy said, and Blaise held back his laughter.

And that was that. The friends who had grown together, blossomed together, and changed with every turn of the tide. They weren’t good- they took the wrong sides, for the sake of survival, for the sake of familiarity, for the sake of _family._

When Draco took the Mark, when the abuse and the reality set in, he sobbed into a bathroom sink and attacked Harry, because he couldn’t _be_ like this, he couldn’t be _seen_ like this. There were too many things at stake- too many for him to handle. He wanted out, but where would he go?

But now things had changed- he didn’t have to be on that side anymore, and they didn’t need to do things in the name of surviving anymore. Blaise showed them a softer place to land, a kinder world they could live in. It was still harsh- homophobia, and all that- but they _belonged._ He wondered what it took, for Blaise. He wondered what Blaise had to learn and unlearn, where he had to go.

Slowly, Draco closed his eyes, alone, in a bedroom he had long outgrown. He thought, and he thought, and he remembered names he hadn’t meant to remember.

And he thought, _Perhaps it’s time._

He thought about Pansy sitting on her living room floor, photographs from work sprawled out and her hands in her hair- sighing heavily because _He’s so cute, too bad he’s going to jail_. Blaise taking his top off at the beach and smiling brightly, showing off the swirling floral tattoos around his surgery scars. A café, hands over his hand.

He thought about a house devoid of personality, a house with a dead plant and a trans flag sticking out of it. He thought about unapologetic dancing, a nightclub vibing with noise, a hot pink leotard _._ He thought about unkempt hair, a yellow off-shoulder sweater and round glasses. That thought did not leave.

 

 _I am drowning,_ Draco thought. _Sinking, even. But I know where I can go._

_I’m going to get out of this place._


	6. Pay No Mind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> CW: Panic Attack

“Gooood morning, love.” Jolene smiled from the kitchen, as Harry rubbed their eyes and stretched. This is so disgustingly domestic, but damn it, they lived for sappy shit like this.

“Morning.” They yawned, and headed to the fridge to grab themselves a glass of orange juice.

Jolene designed her kitchen and remodelled it on her own. It was modelled after a kitchen she had seen in a 1950s vintage magazine, when everyone was into bright, shiny red refrigerators with a racing stripe on it and teal kitchen cabinets. But that, of course, was _not_ what Jolene’s kitchen contained.

She much preferred pink, and that was why her cabinets were a lovely baby pink.

The countertops _were_ teal, though, and so was the fridge. Harry wondered when they were going to develop a style like that, every time they took a step into her kitchen.

“Hey Jo, remember when the hob straight up stopped working?”

“Ugh, don’t remind me.” She grumbled, flipping a pancake over her clearly new, modern cooktop. “I _really_ want to get a new one, because ugh, my kitchen doesn’t match anymore. Look- Teal, pink, teal, pink, WHITE, teal, pink, teal.”

It didn’t clash at all, thought Harry, but Jolene was on a roll and they knew better than to interrupt then.

“But you know, it’s so expensive especially since I don’t want an actual gas stove, I just want something that _looks_ like it’s from the 50s so I _have_ to get it custom. So darn expensive” She huffed, dumping the pancake out into a plate already stacked with two more pancakes. Damn it, even her plates matched the kitchen.

“You _have_ to come to my house and do interior design for me, you’re really talented.”

“Magazines, honey. And it’s not _talent,_ okay, it’s just about being willing to work with the IKEA kitchen stuff.”

“No, that’s talent _,_ come on.”

She rolled her eyes and handed Harry a plate full of blueberry pancakes and a bottle of maple syrup, so they sat on the counter to eat and watch Jolene finish making the rest of the pancakes. Another thing they liked about Jolene’s kitchen- A counter where you can sit and eat while watching someone make food. It made them feel welcome, like they weren’t just sitting around waiting to be served. Like an asshole.

Jolene sat up on the other barstool and dug into her pancakes with a hefty sigh.

“Are you okay?”

“Got a show tonight, trying to think of what outfit I wanna go with.”

“Are we going to see more dancing?”

“Oh yes, for sure. As always, if you come watch tonight I’ll give you a lap dance.”

“You’re too nice to me.”

“You tip better than anyone in the audience ever will, Harry.”

“That’s untrue.”

They laughed, and Jolene got out of her seat to grab some whipped cream and strawberries from the fridge. Harry shovelled more pancake into their mouth- because Jolene was better at cooking than they ever could be, and they wanted to savour every moment of this meal.

“Pancakes are so much better with whipped cream and strawberries.”

“We should make strawberry and blueberry pancakes. I bet it’s delicious.”

“I think strawberry banana would be a better combination, but you’re making me want to try that. Oh, hold on, what if I made the pancakes with strawberry _milk_ and then added blueberries? That would be awesome.”

“I should’ve suggested this last night. We could’ve tried that right now.”

“You were caught up in your own angst, Harry.” Jolene laughed. She had finished her pancakes- she never really ate much for breakfast. “But it’s good that you can suggest these fun things now. Before last night you weren’t a lot of fun.”

“I wasn’t in the best mood.” They admitted, finishing off the last of their pancakes and then heading over to the sink to wash up. “I’m still not really in the grandest mood- I still wish I could reliably be friends with Ron, Hermione, Ginny and the others.”

“You’ve got your own shit to work out, my dear Potter.” She popped the last whip cream-covered strawberry into her mouth, and smiled. “It’s reasonable to need that sort of space.”

“I’ve been needing space for like three entire years.” Harry mumbled.

“Psh.” Jolene flapped her hands at them, bringing her own empty plate over. “You take however long you need.”

Harry smiled, as they handed the washed dishes for Jolene to dry off and replace on the shelves. When they were done, Harry changed back into their clothes from the previous day, grabbed things and got ready to leave. Jolene always sent them home with sweets- Today’s take-home was a slice of cherry pie. They sighed, content, and began the trek back home.

Jolene lived a full thirty minute walk away from them, which they liked because walking always gave them time to think. It was something they did a lot, actually.

They liked going to Jolene’s- she reminded him of Molly Weasley, and her unwavering need to feed every soul who walks through her door. But Harry couldn’t find it in them to go to Mrs Weasley anymore, not since they disappeared and reappeared a year apart. There were people that they still couldn’t face, and it was okay because everyone had moved on without them anyway. They, ultimately, were not necessary to the narrative.

 _Anyone else could’ve been the Chosen One_ , Harry thought. _I don’t know why it had to be me. Prophecy be damnned. I don’t think I really did anything special._

They really didn’t, or so they thought. They thought about Neville, wielding Gryffindor’s sword to slice off the head of a giant snake. They thought about Ron, falling from a giant chess piece. They thought about Hermione, brilliant and clever and radiant, turning back time, saving a Hippogriff. They thought, and they thought. It was what the walk was for, after all.

And they almost missed the grocers’, even as they bumped directly into a familiar neighbour.

“Olive!”

“Harry!”

“Wow it is _weird_ not seeing you behind a bar.”

“I could say the same to you, kiddo. Oh- You’ve never met Dana. Harry, this is my wife, Dana. Dana, Harry Potter.”

Harry had not met Olive’s wife before this- which was odd, because Jolene had known them both for so long and Olive talked about her all the time. She was a _petite_ woman, sporting gorgeous, fluffy textured hair that made Harry think of Hermione’s hair in second year, before someone (probably her mother) brought her to get her hair braided.

“Hey, Harry. Great to meet you, Olive talks about you sometimes.”

“Aw, you do that?”

“Don’t give away all my secrets, love, I’m supposed to be the scary bartender with the undercut and the big guns.” Olive chuckled, swinging Dana’s hand gently. She laughed.

“I’m just- Picking up some stuff before I get home. Jo sent me home with some pie, so I thought, y’know… Make some lunch to go with the pie?”

“You’re gonna cook?” Olive raised an eyebrow, shoving a coin into the shopping cart rental slot. “That is news, Potter.”

“Nobody really calls me Potter anymore, you know.”

“I’ve heard your latest boytoy call you that.”

“He’s not my boy toy.” Harry snapped with a bit more venom than intended, and bit it back with regret. “Sorry, didn’t mean it like that.”

“Don’t sweat the small things, kid. It’s how the big things escape.”

Dana snorted.

“What?”

“Oh, nothing.” She giggled, and Harry rolled their eyes as they started pushing their cart around. Olive smiled and shook their head.

“What are we feeling tonight, babe?”

“Ooh, I’m picking dinner? Okay, how about…” She picked up a single lime from the fruit aisle as they passed, and pointed to the deli. “Lime… and pork chops? Limes are tasty, you and I both love pork chops, it’s perfect.”

“… Gonna need to Google a recipe for that, but alright, let’s give it a try.”

“I love your relationship.” Harry piped up, feeling slightly left out. Olive and Dana turned to them, and suddenly they felt like the floor was very exciting. “I mean- I’ve never, y’know. Had one.”

“You dated that girl Ginny, didn’t you?” Olive said, raising an eyebrow.

“It wasn’t very much.”

“It was something.” Dana put a reassuring hand on their shoulder, and smiled. “Everything is something. You’re still young, you don’t have to find your end-all now. Ugh, looking at Jolene back then, and now you- You guys are like _children_ compared to both of us. Babies!”

“I’m twenty-one! Literally turning twenty-two in a couple of months.”

“Babies!”

“Alright, darlin.” Olive squeezed her hand. “I think Harry got the point. So, what’s for lunch?”

“Oh, uh…” Harry hadn’t looked around at all _._ They rarely cooked for themselves, and the delivery guy from their local Indian food place knew them _way_ better than any delivery person had any business knowing them. One time, they ordered a bit more food than usual and the delivery guy smiled all too brightly at them, like he was happy for them. That was a little more awkward than any equivalent exchange needed to be.

“If you’re having trouble deciding, I have a pretty great recipe for chicken parm.” Dana offered.

“Oh- um. I don’t know. I could really go with something minimal effort.”

“How about pasta? No shame in a can, we used to live off that stuff.” Olive suggested with a soft chuckle. Dana nudged them, and they shrugged. “What? It’s true. We were poor as hell back then ‘cause nobody wanted to hire me.”

Harry could feel the anger rising within them, and took some effort to swallow it back down.

“Homophobia has always been the damn same.” They replied through gritted teeth, marching over to the canned food section. Dana and Olive looked at each other, wondering. Finally, Dana spoke.

“It was somewhere late into the AIDs crisis.” She said, and they looked up from a can of four-cheese ravioli. “We were losing friends, and people got scared we’d infect the water or something. Olive got fired, I got transferred and had to take a smaller paycheck. Both of us are negative, by the way.”

As she said it, Harry felt their gut sink into the floor.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be, kiddo. I’m sharing it with you because it’s fairly important context.”

“I know, I mean. I should’ve known.”

“Oh please. You wouldn’t have.”

Olive insisted on paying for Harry’s can of Chef Boyardee pasta, and threw in a bag of parmesan.

“It’ll taste better that way, I promise.” They said, so Harry agreed. They went home with an armful of groceries and a mind full of painfully unwelcome thoughts.

Everyone was moving on, everybody had somebody. Hermione and Ron. Ginny and Luna, Luna and Neville. Bill and Fleur. Olive and Dana. Where did Harry fit in, in all of this?

They walked all the way home, those names swirling in their head.

They passed the old, beat-up used car, the one that had gotten them out of the wizarding world and into their new, mundane one. They wondered where it could take them, and how far. How much farther can this old car go, without magical interference? Can it take them somewhere where they could be alone with their thoughts?

The thought held strong in Harry’s mind, as they stirred the watery sauce in hopes that it’ll thicken up. It never really did. But it was pretty good, as far as they were concerned. They thought about Ron’s ravioli, sitting cold in the fridge. Does it count as cooking if all they did was heat up a can of spaghetti and add parmesan? Ron’s ravioli is also a saucy pasta, it might be strange to have pasta twice in the same day. But what else were they going to eat, other than more take-out?

When Harry was still driving around the country, they passed a herd of grazing sheep, a dog keeping a watchful eye over them. They were still confused, and driving was exhausting. But it was somewhat early in the day, and it was warm in the best way. So they stopped to watch the sheep. The farmer spotted them at one point, and waved them over in a friendly way.

Long story short, Harry left in the afternoon having pet a Border Collie, eaten some lovely homemade shepherd pie, and purchased some sheep’s cheese.

When will they learn to earn their kindnesses, and when will they learn to stop taking things that they didn’t deserve? They left, their heart soaring, but sinking suddenly upon realisation of what they had just done. They nearly threw up by the side of the road- but didn’t.

Paris was nice, they thought. They should go back sometime.

There was a letter in their mail slot that slid in while they weren’t looking, somewhere between the dishes and the musing. They picked it up.

_To Harry Potter,_

_Wherever they may be._

Huh. Who could have sent this? Harry flipped it over, and felt their heart drop, and speed up. They staggered to the couch and sank down.

There was a seal on the back that they didn’t recognise. Slowly, gingerly and with trembling fingers, they opened it, and began to retrieve the letter from within it.

_Dear Harry,_

_How are you? I hope you have been doing well. Ron and Gin said that you’ve got a house now, but wouldn’t give us the address so that we wouldn’t trouble you. They mentioned something about you needing space- and I understand that. But I also think that perhaps it’s time that we all reached out to you again._

_It’s been a long time and we were wondering if now would be a good time to invite you over for dinner. We do miss you around here, and with everything that has happened and is happening, it would be very nice to see your face around here again. After all, most of everyone is moving out, and Ginny is barely home these days._

_You see, Fred’s death anniversary coming up._

Harry felt their heart stop. Something within them clammed up, and the whole world began to hyperventilate. Everything, everywhere, began to shake and tremor, and it was like it had begun to storm all over the world.

 _-We were hoping you’d be able to come to his vigil, at least for some dinner._ The letter continued, despite Harry. _It is just a small, family affair, and yes, that includes you, Harry. You do mean that much to us, here. And at least, we think Fred would appreciate it._

_Hope to see you soon, Harry._

_With love,_

_Molly Weasley_

They had to take a pause. Just one. A moment. Just to let all of the tears drain out, let it all fall and smudge the ink on the paper. Slowly they staggered over to the door and swung it open, only to see a tawny owl pruning its feathers. It looked at them expectantly.

They slammed the door shut.

They’d received letters before. But the trick to never having to read the shit that people write is to cross out the addressee so hard and hand it back to the owl- Returning the letter meant that it was the wrong name or address, and crossing out the name prevents the letter from being delivered back to the sender (unless the owl was particularly smart). Harry had been doing that for ages, because they refused- they refused to be part of that world. What consumed them to open the letter this time around, they weren’t sure.

The owl awaits, Harry thought. They couldn’t possibly just leave that poor thing outside. It’s doing its job.

Which is now the story of how Harry now had an owl hanging out in their kitchen, snacking on a little piece of pie crust (from Jolene’s pie).

They picked up their phone and dialled the first number they could think of.

“Hello?”

“Hey Ginny.” Harry said, sinking to the floor of their apartment. “Can you come over now, please?”


	7. Dissection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> CW: Panic attack, mid-way misgendering.

Ginny liked to sit the wrong way in every seat. One leg draped over the arm of a couch, an arm around the backrest of a wooden chair. She liked the feeling of dominance that came with knowing that she could take up as much space as she wanted, and that she deserved that much.

Luna, too, sat the wrong way most of the time. When together, they sat side-by-side, arms pressed against each other, both with their legs up on their loveseat, doing individual things. Occasionally, Luna would make a comment about the article she was writing in their latest edition of the _Quibbler,_ or her newfound research material about some new, obscure magical creature that she had found evidence of.

That was the way they lived. With something like that to hold on to- There’s no room for jealousy. What more can you ask for, when you are 20 years old, young, childish, naive, living a fairytale love story where you are both fulfilled.

Ginny shifted on her couch. Luna sighed, put her magazine down and stretched. She turned to Ginny with a soft smile- Everything about her was a little ethereal, a little serene. If Ginny was a blazing forest fire, Luna was a water nymph, dancing in the oncoming monsoon. Ginny always felt it in her bones, the feeling of old magic dancing in Luna’s weathered bones.

“I’m tired. I’m going to take a nap. Will you join me?”

Luna liked taking naps together. She liked the feeling of security, when her partner would wrap around her and they could stare at each other’s eyes for as long as they wanted.

“I’m good.”

Conversely, her girlfriend, was not that sort of romantic. If it had been Neville, perhaps he would be happy to. ‘Sure, love, just let me finish up here’ or so he’d say.

But of course, Ginny was not Neville. She would never expect that of her. So she shrugged, and lay down on the bed alone.

The one-bedroom they shared was technically Luna’s. But Ginny and Neville were both there so often, it almost felt as if they were all living together. Except, Neville and Ginny were rarely there together at the same time. He would be at Hogwarts, attempting to become a teacher, and she would be at the Burrow, or training with the Harpies. Less so, now.

Ginny preferred to watch Luna sleep, more than liking to sleep together in the same bed. She wasn’t a fan of sleeping when someone else was asleep, it felt too open. Now as she stayed awake, she liked to set her mind on other things. Things like her family.

They were lucky. So very lucky, to have been able to stick so close together despite everything. Percy was back, Charlie was home more often than he used to be. Bill and Fleur still lived in that cottage, but they wrote often.

They were supposed to be lucky, that a calamity like that brought their family that much closer. Like how her Mum and Dad were sometimes found waltzing to Celestina Warbeck, or how Auntie Andromeda now drops by with Teddy Lupin, almost four years old and waddling around with a stuffed wolf in his ravioli-sized fist, babbling away about nothing. They were so lucky to have what they do, and that is supposedly, a family borne of ashes, rising above their tragedies.

But Fred was still gone. And in a way, that meant that George was, too.

Sometimes, she wondered whether she should still call it a war- It is crazy to admit it _was_ one, when she considered how young all the participants were. Participants like they were playing a game, because in a way, putting it that way sounded much easier. Screw Dumbledore’s Army- Underaged and Under-Trained Volunteer Corps sounded more correct.

They were supposed to be vigilantes and heroes. A lot of the press and public seemed to believe that. But people didn’t die heroes. They died children.

Harry Potter was supposed to be a hero. But sometimes, when she looked at them, she saw a million ghosts, a thousand lifetimes and a hundred ways to apologise.

Sometimes, she saw Fred, too. When she caught a glimpse of her own reflection in their glasses, she could tell exactly who they were seeing. Sometimes, she wondered who else they saw, in everyone else. Did Olive remind them of someone, and did Fizz? Who did Harry see, when they looked at Draco Malfoy?

No, she thought. Maybe Harry saw nothing, behind Draco’s eyes. Was that why?

_Buzz… Buzz…_

Speak of the devil, she thought, as she picked up her phone. She wondered to herself, about the rarity of that situation. Harry never called- Usually they texted if they wanted to meet at the bar. But it was also the middle of the day.

She hit ‘Answer’.

“Hello?” She said, as one does, and Harry’s voice flooded her ears, broken, shard-like, trembling and hoarse.

“Hey Ginny.” They said. She sat bolt upright. “Can you come over now, please?”

“Where are you? Are you safe? What’s happened?”

“I’m at home, Gin. Please just come over. I can’t talk about this on the phone.”

“I’ll be there in an hour.”

“No- Gin. You can come however you want just- please.”

“I’ll be there in five minutes.”

She hung up, and looked at Luna. She went to her side, and planted a soft kiss on her forehead. She walked over to the counter and pulled her wand out of her pocket.

With some quick flicks of her wand, a sandwich assembled itself upon a plate- Lettuce, Bell Peppers, Green onions and Tomatoes. Luna would’ve preferred it if there was some hummus as a spread, but Ginny wasn’t _that_ good at practical spells. She can add some on her own, Ginny thought. She scribbled a quick note- _“Harry’s got an emergency, didn’t want to wake you, sorry.”-_ and stepped out the door. Breathing deeply, she barely felt the dizziness as she Apparated away.

* * *

“-With love… Molly. Oh, Bugger.” She mumbled, and looked over to Harry, who was hugging both knees to their chest while sitting on their couch, looking down at the floor. “Mum didn’t mention that she was going to invite you. I thought she’d ask us first.”

“Regardless of that, I- I don’t know.”

“About what part? The letter or Fred?”

“No- no no not- not that last thing. The other thing.”

“The letter?”

“Yea.”

“What about the letter?”

“It’s just- I- Can we please… Just sit? Please sit with me.”

“Merlin, Harry.” Ginny sat down on the couch, gently enough to not disturb Harry’s stance. They leaned on their side, depositing almost their entire weight onto her arm. “You’re not okay.”

“No, I’m really not.” They said softly.

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

Harry looked up from the floor, and suddenly looked tiny. Like an eleven-year-old, writing in a diary that talked back. She decided right then and there, that she hated the look on their face.

“I don’t know. Sitting is good. Could we just sit for a while?”

“Sure. Mind if I hugged you?”

“Please do.”

Ginny wrapped an arm around Harry, gingerly as if holding them too close might cause them to shatter. Their eyes were bloodshot and puffy from crying, and their glasses were stained with tears. She removed them and set them aside.

They stayed that way for only a couple of minutes.

“I don’t know what to do.” Harry said, their voice strained. “I haven’t seen your Mum in ages.”

“About four or five years, in fact.”

“Yeah.” They mumbled. “I mean, I wouldn’t put it past her. I just thought there would be more build-up to this. The first person to find me was the youngest Weasley, and then the second youngest, and I thought we might work our way up the age chart but… Here we are.”

“Technically, Hermione found you first. She went through a lot of trouble.”

Harry shrugged. Ginny sighed, and leaned back.

“Alright, alright. I get it.” She said, squeezing their shoulder. “It sucks.”

“Do I have to go?”

“Not really. You could make up an excuse not to. It’s what you’re best at.”

“… I really don’t appreciate that passive aggression from you, Gin.”

She laughed, and Harry pulled away from her hug to plant their face into the side of the couch.

“This sucks, Gin. I mean- I want to do something. I want to see everybody, for sure. I don’t know how everybody else is doing and it just sucks. I don’t know if your Mum’s gonna be okay with the whole nonbinary thing or the whole skirt and glitter thing. She saw me transition, she saw the way I changed and she was fine with _that_. But now I’m all confusing and gay and non-conformist and I don’t know how she’s gonna deal with that.”

“… You’re not worried about dad?”

“Your Dad would be really excited and ask a million different questions. He’s not gonna freak out. The man treats every bit of confusion in his body as curiosity. If every cishet man in the world could be more like your dad we’d be in a better place.”

Ginny petted Harry’s hair as if it would calm them, as they let out a long, guttural groan into the couch.

“First of all, Mum’s not going to freak out. At worst, she’d take some time to get used to it- She got used to her only daughter being a full butch lesbian, and her second eldest son being a fucking dragon handler on top of being asexual. She’d be okay with you wearing skirts. Second of all, it sounds like you really want to go.” She said, and they sat up. They stared straight ahead at the wall in front of them for a strangely long time.

“That’s because I _do_ want to go.” They admitted, at last. “I really want to. I just don’t know how I’m going to face everyone. Especially since… You know.”

“Fred.” Ginny sighed. Harry nodded, and went back to hugging their legs and staring at the floor. “Yeah, I know.”

“I also disappeared for years before you found me, and that feels like it would be a bit of a… Oh I dunno. Elephant?”

“Ah yes, the elephant in the room, that is the thing that exists and haunts every family gathering.” Ginny rolled her eyes. “Please, Harry. The biggest room elephant at the moment is George.”

“What about George?”

“Fred.”

“Oh.”

And they sat in more silence for another strange amount of time.

“Mum’s probably hoping you’d talk George through it. He’s not completely shattered by it anymore, but he’s just- Not been the same. A lot like you, honestly.”

“In what way?”

Ginny opened her mouth as if she was about to speak, but then closed it. She shrugged.

“Hermione would be able to explain this better.” She mumbled, and sucked in a deep breath through her teeth. Harry waited, and waited, and waited for Ginny to speak. When she finally did, a lot of the words came out _very quickly._

“George’s magic broke. He can’t use it. His wand reacts when he tries but it just fizzles out. He insists that he doesn’t need it to run the joke shop, but that’s a big fucking lie and he knows. And you, I don’t know what the _fuck_ happens for you when you try, but you told me before while completely drunk that magic hurts like a bitch. So I figured it might be the same thing and… Oh. Shit. I told Mum.” She looked at Harry, apologetic, her expression falling into that guilty spiral Harry knew she was prone to. They stared back, wondering what to say.

Harry sat up and set their feet down on the ground.

“I forgive you.”

They had been contemplating telling somebody about it for a while. It was something that bothered them anyway, and the prospect of talking to somebody with _potentially_ a similar issue was very tempting. So they sighed.

“I’ll go.”

“You wanted to anyway.”

“Yeah. 2nd May, right?”

“You remember! Good job.”

“That’s this Thursday. I’ve got a day to prepare for it, and another to drive all the way down, which is nice because I love road trips.” They said, standing up. Ginny rolled her eyes. They headed to the kitchen where they kept a small post-it pad and a pen for quick notes. They decided to recycle the envelope that was used, because they didn’t keep envelopes in their home anymore.

_I’ll be there._

_\- Harry_

_P.S. Please don’t send me any more owls._

_Ask Ginny or Ron to talk to me, instead._

_I don’t mean to be rude, but owls really put me off right now._

They folded up the note and stuffed it back into the envelope, where their address was now crossed-out and replaced with _“To Mr and Mrs Weasley, The Burrow”_ before being handed back to the owl, who gave Harry a friendly hoot before fluffing up and taking off through the kitchen window.

“There’s that.”

“Yep.” Ginny walked towards Harry and watched the owl disappear into the distance. “Wanna head down Somewhere Queer tonight?”

“Oh god, yes, please. I could _really_ go for a Passionfruit beer right now.”

“Beer. Why beer. I’m bringing my own poison, if you catch my drift.”

“Firewhiskey sucks.”

“Beer is literal piss.”

Harry rolled their eyes.

“Fine. Are you going to hang out here until dinner, or are you going to head back? Because it’s too early in the day to head to the club, and I want a nap.”

“You sound like Luna.” Ginny muttered. “She’s probably waking up from her nap right now.”

“Oh, that’s why Luna didn’t come? I half expected her to.”

“Frankly speaking, she wouldn’t have. Your tone was so urgent I thought you’d gotten into a fight or something. And then turns out, my Mum invited you over for dinner and you had a panic attack.” She laughed, suddenly recognising the absurdity of the situation. Harry couldn’t help but laugh with her.

“Shut it, you.” They said, shoving her gently. She laughed harder, almost in response. Harry threw their arms around her, sighing heavily. “Thank you for coming over, Ginny. I don’t think I could’ve talked about this to anybody else.”

“Yeah, well. I’m Ginny Weasley, bitch. I’m awesome.” She grinned, squeezing Harry in response. “Also, there’s nobody else in the world who could tell you why Mum owl’ed you. Ron would say something stupid to try and _force_ you to come. He’s a git, I’m glad you didn’t call him.”

“He’s got a good heart.”

“In a lot of wrong places, Harry.” She said, and they let go. “I’ll see you later tonight, friend.”

And so Ginny left. Harry tucked themselves in with an alarm set, and sighed, ready to kill some time.

* * *

_CW: Misgendering. See endnote for explanation._

Minerva McGonagall still taught, even after assuming her role as Headmistress at Hogwarts. She preferred that- The idea of sitting behind a desk doing paperwork and absolutely no nurturing of young witches and wizards was unthinkable to her. She still had the drive to teach everything she knew, to any student who sat in her classroom.

And regardless, it was going to be especially difficult to get any new professors anytime soon. Perhaps she would consider retirement if someone competent enough expressed interest. But for now, she was more than happy to continue.

The student pool dwindled, the first year after the War. It was painful, filling in the spots where students had withdrawn for health reasons, or worse. There were empty desks, vigils to hold and funerals to attend. But more than that- There were Eighth Year students to tutor. Even if they were excused, it was still rather heartening to find that many of them chose to return.

Hermione Granger was no surprise, and her presence was gladly welcomed. She anticipated her return, and could decipher Miss Granger’s reasons even without her rushed explanations.

She listened to Longbottom, too, when he admitted his ambition to teach. And here Longbottom was indeed, gathering lesson materials for Sprout, assisting students wherever they needed.

A part of her hoped of news regarding Harry Potter, upon the revelation that he had simply dropped off from the Wizarding World. She liked him quite a bit- Troublemaking, sneaky, like his father had been. But she noticed his kindness- the way he used to watch the world with the same fierce love that his mother did.

She had followed him with catlike vigilance for a significant portion of his childhood. She knew exactly what he had been going through, and hoped that _someday,_ something good would come to him, even if those hopes were shattered with every year.

He never responded to Hogwarts’ invitation back for Eighth year, and without anyone noticing, she worried.

As such, news of his reappearance in the Muggle world didn’t shock her as much as she thought it would. She couldn’t care less about what Potter did or said. He was alive, and as far as pictures showed, finally getting to relish their youth. As far as what the Daily Prophet reported of his activities, she didn’t care. Harry Potter was alive, and living. That was more than enough.

With Malfoy, she had to take pause. He arrived to her classroom on their first day back, shifty-eyed and quiet. He had returned alone, diminished, avoiding the gaze of others. She wondered to herself, about her own biases, and the history that the boy represented. He raised no questions, handed in his work diligently, and caused no trouble, even as far as having never spilled a single drop of water or juice at meal times. All in all, Draco Malfoy went about the year largely unremarkable by school administration.

But the other students were not kind- And she could almost justify it, knowing what he had done, where he had been.

Almost, she thought. Because this boy she had observed falling behind on schoolwork in his Sixth, no matter how he used to brag of his father’s wealth, no matter how obnoxiously he spoke and no matter how much pride he held before everything unfolded, the boy she thought needed a stern lesson or detention had faded into the background.

Lesson learned, she thought, but at what cost?

He was pale, and sickly. He had no reason to return- or at least, none that she could tell. She could justify a desire to do _something_ with your life, rather than sit at home and breathe the privilege you were born to, but as far as she could tell with Malfoy, he had no real reason for Eighth year other than to have a place to be. That would be worrisome for any educator, regardless of who the student is.

“Mr Malfoy,” She said one night, when she caught Malfoy in a classroom doing some Charms homework. “It is past curfew.”

“I know.” He had said with a shrug. “But I don’t know what else I’m going to do other than lie in bed and wish I was dead.”

She did not pursue the case, and instead she only sent him off to bed. But it was a moment that never quite escaped her, and a moment that she wondered about often. A part of her would always wonder if she should have spoken to Horace about it, asked him to keep an eye out, but Slughorn was never quite the type to do things without an ulterior motive. And now that the Eighth Years were no longer sorted by Houses, that meant she, and not Horace, was now responsible for the actions of Draco Malfoy.

Despite her reservations- as stated before- Minerva still prided herself in her work, her job as an educator. She took it seriously, and despite knowing who Malfoy is, or was, she had a job to do. It was her responsibility to care, and by the power vested in Merlin’s beard, she will. She was no longer in a position to allow her biases to warp her judgement of a student who was, ultimately, still a victim by his own admissions, by his family’s admissions.

He asked not, for the family he was given, nor the implications of the darkness he was raised in. And watching as the boy kept to himself, leafing through book after book - She noticed by chance, once, that his library log noted him checking out multiple books of similar subjects. Things like Philosophy, Sociology, The First Wizarding War. She watched him learn and unlearn. Perhaps that was enough. Perhaps that was why she chose forgiveness instead.

His graduation was attended by no-one, for his parents were awaiting retrial at the time. He rushed through his own ceremony, declined the Graduation Ball, and she would never hear about him again.

That is, until recently. An owl came to her a several nights ago regarding an appointment with Draco Malfoy, who was almost _too_ formal in his letter requesting to see her about access to the Hogwarts’ Library, including the Restricted Section. It alarmed her slightly- This was a boy who used to be part of the Dark Forces, after all, and knowledge was power. But she decided that ultimately, he had earned his right to be listened to, at the very least.

If anything, her insecurities could be put to rest through some extra precautions.

And that is how she ended up with Malfoy in the Head Office, where she observed his apprehensiveness at her redecorations. Previously, most of Albus’s old knick-knacks had been removed and returned to Abeforth, as he was his last surviving kin, including the dish that used to hold sweets. The only things that Abeforth refused to take was the Pensieve and Albus’s odd cabinet of memories. Post-War, Minerva sent those along to the Ministry’s Archives.

“Have a seat, Mr Malfoy.” She said, snapping Draco out of his trance. He was still processing the changes, primarily with the wallpapers. He never really pinned McGonagall as someone who liked colour, but Dumbledore’s walls were a brassy sort of bronze, and now the wall was a muted red. The wooden bannisters had been revarnished, so not only did they look cleaner and new, they were now a darker shade than he remembered.

Most of all, Dumbledore’s desk was gone. Snape, during his brief reign as Headmaster, had kept everything largely intact. But McGonagall had replaced most of Dumbledore’s grander furnishings with more simplistic designs. They were rather straightforward and served a purpose, Draco supposed. The engravings on her new desk weren’t very ornate, but it was simple, and still quite pretty.

He sat down on on a hard wooden chair, as McGonagall sat across from him and looked at him pointedly over her glasses, his letter in hand.

“So, Mr Malfoy, I understand you arranged this meeting in order to gain access to our Library for, as you put it, historical purposes?”

“Yes Professor.” Draco pursed his lips, and McGonagall looked at him expectantly, waiting for him to elaborate. He took a deep breath.

“I’m volunteering for a new archival movement- The Queer Magical History Protection Movement, to put it formally. We’re currently looking to find and compile a comprehensive archive of Queer Wizard History, as a lot of it has been erased or buried over time. And the Hogwarts library just, in my memory, has so many pieces of literature and writing that we haven’t been able to find in local libraries. A lot of the information that we _did_ uncover was incomplete, or censored in some way- So I was hoping that… I could come in and have a look here.”

McGonagall seemed surprised, which was odd because she seemed like the sort who would be hard to surprise. She blinked, and nodded in acknowledgement. She looked around her desk, as if trying to find something other than Draco to focus on, as she gathered her thoughts.

“Mr Malfoy,” She said pointedly, now removing her glasses and looking directly at him, which intimidated him greatly. “Is this movement something that is important to you, personally?”

“Yes.” He said without hesitation. “I’m really passionate about this. There’s a lot to uncover- And so much that has been buried. I’ve been visiting a lot of libraries in past year or so, none of which covered as wide a variety as Hogwarts doe-”

Professor McGonagall put up a hand to stop him from continuing further.

“I must rephrase my question.” She said. “Are you doing something that you find enjoyment in, Mr Malfoy? As I last recall, you stated in past assignments, before being prompted to re-do them, that you wished to do- and I quote- ‘Nothing’ in your life.”

He swallowed. The question was incredibly unexpected, and he was caught off guard. Why is she asking this? He never had the chance to truly acquaint himself with McGonagall outside of Transfigurations classes- And outside of Eighth year, that was largely Potter’s thing. Why did she seem to care about him?

“… I mean, I think so? It’s- It’s something. And it’s interesting work, history and archives.” He said slowly. “I just… I don’t think that my teenage self really understood what it meant to have passion in something. I wanted badly to gain my father’s approval, and that was my sole motivator. Other than fear of, uh, death, obviously. So now as an adult, I guess that just means that… What I’m doing now is just- A step in some kind of direction.”

She seemed to think for a moment. She stood from her desk and began to walk over to an overflowing shelf of books.

“Have a biscuit, Malfoy.”

“I’m- Sorry?”

“To your left.”

He looked over, and to his left sat a small dish of checkerboard biscuits. He helped himself to one as instructed. McGonagall soon returned with a handful of forms.

“This one,“ she said as she began to spread them out on the desk, “is for access to the Library, as an alumnus. This second form, is to approve and acknowledge you as a visitor for Scholarly Purposes. And this one, is acknowledgement that you may obtain copies of certain Unrestricted books, and make copies of _parts_ of Restricted texts, for Historic and/or Archival purposes. Make sure to read it all, Madam Pince is very particular about following the rules to the letter.”

He nearly dropped the biscuit.

“You’re approving me?”

“Sharp observation as always, Mr Malfoy. Indeed.” She said, and he _swore_ that he saw a sliver of a smile on her face. His jaw nearly dropped along with the biscuit that was thankfully still in his hand.

“That- And I mean this respectfully- That was easier than I expected, Professor.”

“Were you expecting, perhaps, that it might take more argument?”

“Honestly? Yes. It took a _really_ long time to get into most of the other ones. I wasn’t expecting Hogwarts to be ready for volunteer archivists. Not to mention, Queer history research.”

He didn’t mention his own personal history with the school and his general involvement with the events of the last few years. He decided that it wasn’t necessary to.

“Mr Malfoy,” Professor McGonagall said, handing him a quill to fill the forms with, “above all, you are a Hogwarts alumni, and therefore, help will always be offered to those who ask. Not to mention that restoring parts of forgotten history, is a respectable and honourable cause to be working towards.”

Draco filled in the forms with haste, reading the terms, letting his excitement guide his hands. The Hogwarts library held so much, and he knew exactly how much there was to be uncovered. Going through those books was going to take him _ages,_ there was much note-taking to be done and that thought- that thought alone, of sitting in a familiar library and breathing in the familiar musty smell of the Hogwarts shelves- absolutely _delighted_ him.

Professor McGonagall noticed, and kept her feelings to herself.

“Thank you so much, Professor.” He said, as he handed back the forms. McGonagall took a quick glance through them before she waved her wand to command the wax stamps to approve them.

“You are welcome.” She said, as the forms duplicated, and the originals filed themselves neatly away. The other copy folded themselves into envelopes and flew out the windows, presumably to the Librarian, Madam Pince. “I presume I will be seeing more of you around the castle from today forward?”

“Yes Professor.”

“Then I expect that you know that school rules remain unchanged even for alumnis, then. I will be expecting you to abide by them, in terms of your presentation and general behaviour.” She put her glasses back on, and Draco had to resist the urge to snort.

“Yes Professor,” he said, smirking instead, “I’m aware.”

“Good. Now be on your way, I’m sure you have much to attend to.” She said, ushering him to the door.

Draco began to walk down the stairs, feeling light, and in want of a celebratory drink.

“Oh, and Mr Malfoy?”

He turned, and Professor McGonagall was smiling at him.

“Good luck on your research.”

And that, he thought, felt like a lifetime’s worth of standing ovations.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *The misgendering of Harry Potter is not Minerva's fault- It was briefly mentioned earlier on in Chapter Two, that the press was constantly misgendering and misinterpreting Harry's gender identity. At this point, Harry is still constantly being referred to as "The Boy Who Lived" by most mainstream press such as the Daily Prophet, having been out as a trans guy in school and not as nonbinary.
> 
> The Quibbler, which Minerva does not read, does refer to Harry with their proper pronouns, but they rarely talk about them anyway.
> 
> I need to re-establish this now because unlike a physical book, details like these are easily forgotten since I publish the story by chapters and I don't expect people to remember these things. And I don't want people to think Minerva is being transphobic. She just simply doesn't know- And "He/Him" is one of the pronouns Harry goes with anyway, so there was also no reason for Hermione to corret her.


	8. Slow Dance

Draco wondered what he should do now, having acquired some spare time to mill around. He decided that he could wander around Hogwarts for a bit, just until he felt like leaving, for old times’ sake. He walked down the corridor on the ground floor, passing the courtyard where a group of first-years were studying or simply sitting and chatting.

At least, he _thought_ they were first-years. They seemed to get smaller every year.

He decided, perhaps it would be nice to visit the Dungeons. He never really called it home, but he treasured what he had with his friends. Real quick, though- Gotta take a selfie.

Gross. Maybe another one- Tilt towards the light a bit more, so that his hair wouldn’t blend into the pale of his skin- If only he wasn’t so _blonde_ \- Ah, perfect. He’d edit it later, post it on Social Media, #goldenhourselfie. He scoffed. Golden hour- They were at least an hour away from Golden hour.

Alright, send that to the group chat.

Draco stuffed his phone back into his pocket, ignoring the stares from the actual students and heading straight for his old dorms.

He turned the corner, and nearly walked past the old Potions classroom. It was empty, so he let himself in. He’d leave if a class is about to start, for now he wanted to walk around the tables, just for the heck of it.

He used to sit here with Gregory and Vincent. Later on, Pansy and Blaise would join him, chatting about family obligations, the Dark Arts, Pureblood Supremacy, and occasionally, actual Potions. He sat down at the table, tracing the knife-marks that he and Pansy had made as Blaise stared and raised his eyebrows at them, like he disapproved of everything they did. And in all honesty, he probably did.

Blaise never needed to come out to them, Draco realised. He sat, quiet, with glamours and transition potions under his skin, and the rest of the squad simply watched him change over time, never once questioning what was happening. Draco wondered to himself- How on earth did Blaise survive that? He could recall almost every instance where he or anyone else had made vague, transphobic comments, without even thinking. How on earth did they all survive without any jinxes or hexes on Blaise’s part?

What did Blaise have to endure? How much of it was kindness, and how much of it was exhaustion?

The door opened, and Draco jumped out of his seat.

“Oh, Merlin- Hello, professor, I’m sorry, I was just-“

“Oh! Well, hello, good afternoon to you, Mr Malfoy.” Professor Slughorn stood at the door, surprised. He closed it quickly behind him, and moved forward with a certain haste. “Pleasant surprise- But you must excuse me, I have a lesson in about fifteen minutes, feel free to stay for another moment or two, perhaps until the students get here…” He dropped a pile of parchment and a briefcase onto the teacher’s desk and straightened his robes. He took his hat off and hung it on the wall.

“Yes, of course- I just-“ Draco looked around, and sighed. “I had a meeting with Professor McGonagall just now. I’m doing some archival research and I was hoping to access the Library here. And I, um…”

“Felt a burst of nostalgia, yes?” Slughorn replied cheerfully, arranging some new potions and laying out ingredients for his next class. Draco recognised the ingredients to be the components for a Love Potion.

“Yes.” He admitted. “I was thinking about my past here, for a bit. Oh- Um… I do have to apologise, sir, for all the trouble my friends and I must have caused, in your class. And for the… Other thing.”

“The other thing?” He mused for a moment, and a dark expression of realisation flashed across his face for the briefest of moments before he returned to his usual aloof expression. “Oh, the wine, was it?”

“Yes, sir.” Draco said, his eyes darting as if searching for something interesting on the ground. “I was a very stupid teenager- And I don’t expect you to say anything in response- I just wanted to apologise.”

Slughorn seemed amused, particularly with Draco’s expression, and chuckled. He finished sorting out all the ingredients, and checked his watch. Upon determining that they had some time, he turned his full attention to Draco. Which Draco, decidedly, _did not like._

“It was no trouble at all. I remember you being one of the best in my classes-“

“No, sir, I was pretty good in Professor Snape’s, but not yours. There was a lot going on, really.”

“Ah,” Slughorn smiled, waving his wand and sending the ingredients to each table, “but you were exemplary in your Eighth Year.”

Draco felt his face burn, and he looked away in fear that hearing more praise would end him right then and there. He _barely_ remembered his Eighth year, it was filled with so much angst and anxiety that he couldn’t quite remember which way to put his feet.

“Help me set up the burners, won’t you? Four for each table, for these three.” Professor Slughorn said, and Draco turned this way and that, looking for them. Once located, he pulled out his wand to wave them over to the tables. Slughorn seemed satisfied with Draco’s work, and continued setting up his own cauldron. “Would you consider staying to help my class, while you are here? They’re a small bunch of Slytherins and Hufflepuffs, Sixth Years. They could use your expertise. Particularly the Slytherins, they’re struggling slightly.”

“Oh, well, I’m... I’m a little rusty, Professor.”

“Nothing a little bit of trial and error won’t fix, my boy.” Slughorn’s eye twinkled with a smile. “And you might find some satisfaction in helping your old House Head with a class you excelled in.”

There was really no way he could politely say no to that.

They really do look smaller every year, Draco thought, as the students began to file in with their textbooks tucked into their cauldron, chit-chatting. He remembered being that young. Almost all of them were in their own little cliques, and Draco felt like he could recognise parts of Harry and himself in each one. The idea that he and Harry’s conflict was so teenage, and so _typical_ , felt odd. Watching the students almost felt like rewinding time, almost like he never had to navigate that hell-hole of a rivalry in the backdrop of saving his family.

Some girls looked at him, whispered to each other, and giggled. Draco resisted the urge to roll his eyes- It was sort of understandable, but jeez.

“Hello class, good afternoon. Yes, I trust you all had a good break? Good, good to see.” Slughorn said, over the din of students, and slowly, they quietened down. “Today’s lab work will be individual, just so we can avoid any conflict… And you will _not_ be permitted to bring your products home with you, this time around.”

“We shouldn’t _ever_ be allowed to bring them back, Professor.” Said a Slytherin, and Draco stifled his laugh behind his hand. That is absolutely true.

“Er, sure- Sometimes, perhaps. But today, in particular, we will be making an Amortentia- That is, a Love Potion. Now, the principles and techniques of creating a love potion is very applicable to many other potions you will be making- So we will be practicing the act of willing your potion to life, and also protecting _yourself_ from its effects.”

The more you knew about how harmful substances worked, the better you can protect yourself from it anyway. It was a good thing he never skipped this part of his classes, he thought. If he did, perhaps he wouldn’t be here. He would be under his mother’s control.

“And just for today, my former star pupil, Draco Malfoy, will be assisting us.”

**_Star_** _pupil?_ Draco thought. _That’s stupid. God, I hope he doesn’t need anything._

“Um- How might we address you?”

“Oh, uh, Malfoy will do.”

“Mr. Malfoy, then. Feel free to ask him for any help if you require it. Oh- And the student with the best potion this class will be awarded with extra house points.”

Draco resisted rolling his eyes again. House points! He’d forgotten about that.

The class went by without too much of a hitch- save for a student’s cauldron boiling over and needing to be cleaned up. The student looked at Draco with an immense look of fear and guilt, and he wondered if he’d ever been that afraid of any authority figure.

Except, perhaps, the fact that the class was populated by sixteen-year-olds.

“Mr Malfoy, I need some help, my potion is turning a strange colour!”  
  
“Mr Malfoy, sir, could you help me with these rose thorns, they keep escaping me!”

“Mr Malfoy, I can’t seem to crush up the moonstone.”

_“Man, teenagers are strange.”_ Draco thought, as he chose the path of least resistance and peered over the various things that they wanted help in. The first student had added too much peppermint, the second just wanted attention. He instructed her to sharpen her blade, much to her veiled dismay. The third was genuinely having issues with her moonstone, which he admitted _was_ particularly tough.

“Take your time,” he said, “You’re doing alright.”

“Mr Malfoy,” Slughorn called. “Could you check on Miss Kim’s potion?”

He whipped around to make eye contact with a girl who had her hand up, and he made his way over. Almost immediately, he was struck in the face with the scent, and it was so strong he thought he would faint.

“Oh, Merlin.” He mumbled, looking into the cauldron. The sheen seemed right, but the potion itself was murky, and rather grey and dull. He took the stirrer, and tried to move it. The potion had become thick, and somewhat goopy. “… This is _very_ wrong.”

“Is it bad?”

“Yeah, it is. The smell is really strong too. Maybe go with a lighter hand next time, this is a _delicate_ potion.”

“Well what do _you_ smell in it? Because it smells right to me.”

Draco stuttered. In truth, he was smelling overwhelmingly, vanilla, and wet grass.

“I’m smelling a _lot,_ honestly. I can’t tell. Sorry, I don’t think this one passes. If you gave that to anybody, they might die of some kind of heart attack.”

“Oh, come on! It _smells_ right!”

No, it doesn’t, Draco thought, heading over to each table. When he finally encountered a satisfactory potion that passed both his and Slughorn’s standards, he could finally answer his own curiosity as to what the potion smelled like.

The potion smelled of vanilla, for sure, but also like a Qudditch pitch after it had rained. It was oddly specific, but he identified it. Slowly, he began to catch a hint of witch hazel. And something else, he just wasn’t sure what.

“Well, that was a good class.” Draco said, as he magicked away the burners and cleared out the sink that was now full of failed love potions. Slughorn chuckled.

“It’s more interesting than the usual, most certainly.”

Draco laughed. He cleared out the rest, and Slughorn put his hat back on.

“Would you be open to an invitation to a dinner party I am hosting sometime soon? A lot of wonderful people will be there- Your friend Mr Zambini has been invited. And you can bring a guest, if you’d like. I remember you wanting to join the party a couple of years back, and I say the more the merrier! I invited Harry Potter, like I do every year, but he hasn’t responded in a while.”

“Uh, well, they mentioned that they were busy.”

“Oh, you have been in contact?” Slughorn said, immensely surprised. Draco felt his face burn.

“You could say that.” He said, no longer wanting to be part of the conversation. Draco checked his watch- If he left now, he might have some time to look around the dorms, and then head off without running into anyone else. “In any case, I’ll be preoccupied with the archives, so I will have to decline. It was good seeing you, Professor!”

He shook Slughorn’s hand, and left quickly.

After feeling like he had walked far enough, Draco checked his phone to see a barrage of messages from Pansy and Blaise. He sighed. Thank Merlin, some validation.

**_Draco_ ** _: Sent a picture_ ****

**_Pansy: ‘_ ** _Hot’_

**_Blaise: ‘_ ** _seconded.’_

**_Pansy:_ ** _Sent a sticker_

It was of a cartoon snake in front a heart saying ‘glorp’.

**_Blaise:_** ‘ _what are you doing in skulë, drakey?’_

**_Draco: ‘_ ** _Please don’t call me that’_

**_Pansy:_ ** _‘He lives! I was about to call the Aurors, you went off very suddenly.’_

**_Draco:_ ** _‘Don’t be dramatic. Slughorn caught me and made me assist his class. Sixth Years making love potions. Do you guys remember doing that in class? It was wild.’_

**_Pansy:_ ** _‘Lol you and I tried to figure out if we smelled each other in our potions. Mostly me, you were plotting murder.’_

**_Draco:_ ** _‘I didn’t need the reminder, Pansy.’_

**_Pansy:_ ** _‘Lmao k’_

**_Blaise:_ ** _‘u fools were the_ **_worst_ ** _couple evr. u were_ **_gross._ ** _’_

**_Draco:_ ** _‘You fish sugar daddies on the weekends, you have no right to judge.’_

**_Blaise:_ ** _‘u had a crush on harry potter.’_

**_Pansy:_ ** _‘Catfight alert’_

**_Draco:_ ** _Sent a picture_

**_Draco: ‘_ ** _Look, it’s the common room! They changed it- It looks a lot friendlier now.’_

**_Pansy:_ ** _‘Deflection 100’_

**_Blaise:_ ** _‘say hi to the grindylows 4 me.’_

**_Draco:_ ** _‘Didn’t see the grindylows but I see a giant squid tentacle.’_

**_Draco:_ ** _Sent a picture_

**_Blaise:_ ** _‘well wave back, you monster.’_

**_Draco:_ ** _Sent a video_

**_Pansy:_ ** _‘Hello Miss Giant Squid, thanks for not eating us in school, or killing us all. Or eating Draco’s boicrush in Fourth Year when they all dived into your lake for some task.’_

**_Draco:_ ** _‘ >:('_

**_Pansy:_ ** _‘You’re the one waving at giant squid tentacles.’_

**_Blaise:_ ** _‘ur right tho. they did change it. i could actually get some work done in there. the lighting is much better.’_

**_Draco:_ ** _‘It looks less dungeon and more living room.’_

**_Pansy:_ ** _‘It looks alive.’_

**_Draco:_ ** _‘What did I just say’_

**_Blaise:_ ** _‘btw u nvr said y u were at skool.’_

**_Draco:_ ** _‘Had meeting with McGonagall about the Library. She said yes, so I’m gonna research the_ **_fuck_ ** _out of the Hogwarts library.’_

**_Pansy:_ ** _‘Nerd.’_

**_Blaise:_ ** _‘ew.’_

**_Draco:_ ** _‘ >:(‘_

**_Draco:_ ** _Sent a picture_

**_Draco:_ ** _‘I obviously can’t go in the girls’. Here’s the boy’s dorm. It looks the same as when you and I were there, Blaise.’_

**_Blaise:_ ** _‘i ripped the curtains on the further bed on the left once.’_

**_Draco:_ ** _‘Wasn’t that Theodore’s bed?”_

**_Blaise:_ ** _‘ya.’_

**_Draco:_ ** _‘But- how-’_

**_Blaise:_ ** _‘;) ya think’_

**_Draco:_ ** _‘Wait, wHAT???’_

**_Blaise:_ ** _‘;p’_

**_Draco:_ ** _‘I SLEPT RIGHT BESIDE YOU!!! AND YOU DIDN’T THINK TO ASK TO FUCK_ **_ME????_ ** _BITCH!!!’_

**_Pansy:_ ** _‘I can’t believe that’s what you’re concerned about.’_

**_Draco:_ ** _‘Look if none of my friends want to fuck me what’s the point.’_

**_Blaise:_ ** _‘:/‘_

**_Pansy:_ ** _‘:/‘_

**_Draco:_ ** _‘ >:( You guys are the worst friends.’_

**_Pansy:_ ** _‘We love you too, Drakey.’_

**_Draco:_ ** _‘I’m going to Somewhere Queer after dinner, are you guys coming?’_

**_Pansy:_ ** _‘Gotta work.’_

**_Blaise:_ ** _Sent a fishing rod emoji_

**_Draco:_ ** _‘Ugh, fine. I’ll go by myself and cry into my margarita.’_ ****

**_Blaise:_ ** _‘u dont drink margaritas.’_

**_Pansy:_ ** _‘You’ll go by yourself and cry into your one glass of Red Wine because you’re a fancy bitch.’_

**_Draco:_ ** _‘ >:(‘_

**_Blaise:_ ** _‘he can’t argue bc ur right, pans.’_

**_Pansy:_ ** _‘I’m always right.’_

**_Draco:_ ** _‘Cyberbullies, both of you.’_

 

* * *

 

Stress, Harry thought, was a good excuse to get wasted. But they weren’t much of an alcoholic, because they much preferred to wake up without significant hangovers, and was also not the biggest fan of blacking out and forgetting what had transpired the night before. Not to mention they preferred not to rely on Olive to cut them off, or drive them home, or generally look out for them personally, while needing to manage a bar.

Ginny waved from the bar, and Harry pushed a bit through the crowds to reach her a bit faster. It was a _strangely_ busy Tuesday night. They greeted her with a hug and a smile.

“Hey, Ginny. Hey Olive.” They said, turning towards Olive, who was waiting expectantly.

“Alright, let me see if I can guess this. One Unicorn Beer, and a coke, both on Harry’s tab.”

“You guessed it.” Ginny gave Olive two finger guns, Harry handed over their card, and Olive chuckled as they went off to get their drinks. Ginny usually started with something without alcohol- but that was only because she would top it off with wizard alcohol. “How are you feeling, Harry? This afternoon was pretty intense.”

“I’d feel better once I’ve had my drink. But Ron’s ravioli did help a little bit. Hermione sent me home with ravioli when I had dinner with them.”

“I didn’t know you had dinner with those two.”

“Well,” Harry shrugged. “None of us three are as gossipy as you.”

She huffed, almost offended. Olive brought over their drinks, and while they had their back turned, Ginny filled half the glass with some Firewhiskey she had brought in a flask, before topping it up with the can of coke that they actually paid for. Harry rolled their eyes.

“Get off my case, Harry.” Ginny grumbled, raising her glass. “Cheers.”

They clinked glasses, and Harry finally felt a bit of that initial stress float away. They sighed, and tried to decide whether they would be ordering more drinks that night, or if this was going to be enough. Ginny would tease them, that the only things they could be found being responsible with these days, were alcohol and safe sex.

“So have you figured out how you’re gonna get to The Burrow?” Ginny asked, and Harry grimaced.

“No, not yet. I’m most _definitely_ driving, I just haven’t figured out the route. I mean, I _know_ how to get there, it’s just that we’re so damn far, and I doubt Bugster can take much more of a journey.”

“… _Bugster,_ really Harry?”

“She looks like a bug.”

“I mean, sure, but Bugster? Really? Merlin.”

They both laughed, as the emcee’s announcement started to ring out. Something about a drag performance. Harry turned to the stage and smiled.

“I’m gonna go get a lap dance from my friend, wanna watch?”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

And so they managed to push their way to the front of the crowd, and Fizz appeared from the side of the stage, starting her first lip-sync number to a pop song, dancing through a smattering of confetti that had launched themselves from some cannons from the side.

Harry really, _really_ liked Fizz’s shows. She was extremely fun to watch, and on top of being a great performer _,_ her costumes always had some extraordinary quality to them. They either sparkled, glowed, or transformed in some way. For one, their outfit this time around was a shiny white jumpsuit, with crystal studs embedded on the chest. A pair of disproportionately huge pair of feathered wings spread themselves behind her, and fluttered this way and that easily as she danced.

“Those wings are definitely magic.” Ginny hissed, and they shrugged. They might be, but who cared- If they were, the effect seemed slight enough to be missed by Muggle eyes.

The music began to climb, and Fizz was leaving the stage in search of her volunteers. She spotted Harry, and reached out dramatically to them with a sly smirk and a ‘lassoing’ gesture, and they laughed. They followed Fizz up to the stage and sat down on her chair with their arms crossed behind their back.

The point of Fizz’s lap dance, mostly, is a performative gesture. It’s not really a _good_ dance- It’s just there to get the crowd to scream. But she’d always been a fan of burlesque- so that’s what she did. She is being paid to be here, after all, and tipping isn’t a thing at their club. What they _do_ get is that some Americans like to hand her fivers while she’s doing her show- She’d take them gladly, as long as no one threw coins at her.

And honestly, what better way to end the routine than to throw a handful of cash in the air?

“You suck at lap dancing.” Harry said, clinking beer bottles with her and Ginny. The crowd was starting to file out from the stage area, leaving just those who came to dance. Fizz sighed.

“I wish more Americans would come to our shows- and I wish we had a tipping system here! I would _love_ to be given fives and tenners every time I perform on British stages.”

“I’m sure the American stages would love you, Fizzy.” Ginny said, and Fizz rolled her eyes with a slight chuckle.

“Oh, I know they will. Maybe I should go on RuPaul.”

“No, don’t, that show will _ruin_ you.” Harry interjected quickly, almost spilling their beer in the process. “Ru’s wilful transphobia? Unacceptable.”

“Ew, RuPaul is transphobic?”

“Yeah he is.”

“He thinks trans women are basically like drag queens. Uses slurs. Awful, very dismissive.”

“Ew!”

“I know.” Harry sipped their beer, and turned to lean against the bar. The seats were all taken, and they all had to resort to standing around. “There has _got_ to be better LGBT representation than that. I know Queer Eye is doing an amazing job right now, though.”

“Jonathan Van Ness is nonbinary.” Ginny pointed out. “That’s pretty cool, right?”

“That _is_ cool.”

“Sam Smith too.”

“That is _very_ cool!”

“Rebecca Sugar!”

“Okay,” Harry put their drink down just to gesture, waving their hands in circles. “I get it. They’re all white, though.”

“Rebecca Sugar is Jewish.”

“Oh, yeah, that’s true. Fair enough.”

Ginny chuckled, and Fizz ran a hand through her wig and sighed.

“I can’t wait to get home and take all of this stuff off. It’s so, _so_ heavy.”

“What exactly is going on here, with your outfit?”

“I was going for a Victoria’s Secret Angel thing, but a little more catsuit and a lot less needlessly male gaze-y. And also like, after VS said that whole thing about not hiring trans women for reasons that we all know, I decided that I’m gonna just, reclaim VS and make it trans now. Victoria’s Secret is queer now, we don’t make the rules.”

She snapped her fingers, and they all laughed. Fizz took a sip out of her Martini (on the house, with love from Olive). Ginny hesitated with her words for a bit, leading to a short awkward silence.

“Your wings were magic, weren’t they?” Ginny finally said. Harry took a long swig of beer.

“Just a little.” Fizz said, smiling. She had left her wings backstage, for the ease of getting drinks and hanging out with her friends. “It’s charmed to be easier to move around in, but they’re still hand-made.”

Harry drank some more beer, and grimly realised they had finished the bottle. They sighed and ordered another. Ginny stretched.

“Man, when I was in school I kept wanting to stay out late and hang out with Luna past bedtime, but now that I’m of age and everything, I get tired before it even hits 12am.”

“You’re 20 and already old. How are you gonna live out the rest of your next hundred and something years?”

“I won’t.” She said, taking a swig from her secret concoction. “I’ll just live fast and die in my forties.”

Fizz burst out laughing, and Harry rolled their eyes as Olive popped open Harry’s second bottle of beer.

“Hey, kiddo. I think it’s blonde-o’clock.” Olive jerked their head towards the door.

Harry whipped around, and Ginny let out a snort.

“What?” They asked without looking back, and she started laughing harder. Harry quickly spotted Draco arriving through the door, carrying a messenger bag, looking unreasonably sensible.

“You’re so gay.”

“Oh hush, Gin.” Harry retorted, smoothing out their top and ran a hand through their hair- It was a mess. It will always be. They leaned against the counter, and took a long, long sip from their beer. Almost as an afterthought, they tucked a thumb into their skinny jean pocket, like they were trying to look cool. Fizz and Ginny looked at each other with a keen knowing, summoning every ounce of control over their muscles to keep from laughing.

Almost on cue, Draco noticed them, and waved. Harry waved back in response, and took another big swig from the bottle as he walked over to the three. Ginny was folding her arms and trying not to laugh, but also feeling some sort of way. This is the height of awkwardness- To see someone you’ve hated for so long, now so friendly with someone you love.

“Hello, Harry, hey Fizz.” Draco said, smiling. He looked over at Ginny, who suddenly felt very stiff. “Hello, um… Ginny Weasley?”

“You could just say my name, Malfoy.”

“Right, sorry. I just… wasn’t sure."

A pause ensued, and Ginny cocked an eyebrow upwards. Harry bit their lower lip. Fizz looked between them, concerned.

“I’m not being wilfully malicious, if you were wondering.”

“Oh, no, I wasn’t wondering anything. It’s not like we went to school together for six-ish years and somewhere during that time, you and your squad busted my friends out for teaching each other real Defence Against The Dark Arts.”

Ginny smirked as she said this, and Draco paled slightly. Ginny had a gift for words like that- Like how she knew that words werealways powerful enough to be weaponised- It’s how she was always so good at Defence. She understood what words could do, better than most.

“Right.” Draco inhaled sharply, and adjusted his collar. “A lot has happened.”

“Oh yeah, a _lot._ You also called one of my best friends the M-word.”

“That I did.”

“More than once.”

“Ginny-“ Harry began, but Draco interrupted.

“I know, and I really _do_ apologise.” He said, choosing his words carefully. “But I also know that nothing I say will be enough to make up for anything I said or did, and I can’t claim that I’m a better person now. But for what it’s worth, even if I’m too late- I _am_ deeply, _deeply_ sorry.”

“As you should be.”

“I know that, too.”

She gave him another once-over, and smiled. Her shoulders relaxed, and she extended a hand. Draco shook it, and suddenly Harry could hear the music again. It was almost as if time had stopped, as did their breathing. They laughed nervously.

“So, um, Draco. Where were you just coming from?”

“Hogwarts.” He said, making eye contact with Olive to try and wave them over and order something. “I had to meet with Professor McGonagall about something.”

“Do tell.”

“I volunteer for an archival movement.” Draco smiled, digging into his bag and pulling out a leaflet. “Queer Magical History archives.”

He handed it to Harry, who skimmed it, and then passed it on to Ginny, who let Fizz read over her shoulder.

“That’s… Really amazing, Draco.” Harry said, and he shrugged.

“It’s something. Hi, Olive.” He smiled at Olive, who gave a friendly wave.

“Welcome back, kiddo. What could I get you?”

Draco hesitated- He really wanted a glass of red, but he was a bit too prideful to admit it.

“A pear cider, please.“

“And put it on my tab.” Harry added, and Draco almost swallowed his own tongue.

“You bought me a drink last time. I can pay for my own drinks, Potter. ”

“Oh, can you?”

“Yes!”

Harry raised an eyebrow and gave him a smirk, and he sighed, knowing what it meant if he accepted a drink from Harry. Or at least, he thought he knew.

“Fine.”

Olive shrugged and walked away.

Draco sighed, as he watched Ginny pocket the leaflet. He put his bag up on the bar-top and leaned against it.

“So, Potter, what _have_ you been up to?”

“Not much, as usual.” They shrugged, taking a sip. They were _really_ going through this drink fast, and they weren’t sure if that was a good thing. “I had a sleepover with Fizz last night, it was fun.”

“Oh it _was._ We talked deep stuff. If you swam to the bottom of the Great Lake and shook hands with the Giant Squid, you still wouldn’t have an appropriate grasp on how deep we got.”

“Hang on Fizz, you went to Hogwarts?”

“Oh yes.” She said. “I dropped out in Fifth year, you wouldn’t have met me. I dropped out the same year you and Harry dropped in.”

“What house were you in, then?”

“Take a guess, my love. A wild guess."

Draco had to pause for a moment to think. Like, _really_ think. He wasn’t sure if he pinned Fizz for the sort to care about houses- She _did_ drop out, after all. He cycled through them. Gryffindor? She was definitely very brave, but that went for everyone who put themselves out there in the world as a trans person of colour. And he was quite sure that was the _only_ reason he thought of her as brave at the time. Perhaps a Ravenclaw, because it must have taken a lot of planning and a good amount of thought to drop out. But Hufflepuff seemed likely too, because she was warm and friendly, and creative.

“I’m… Gonna go with Hufflepuff.”

“You think I’m a Puff?”

“I’m… not saying that specifically, but yes.”

“Good guess, and I am very flattered.” She giggled. “But I was a Slytherin.”

Harry and Ginny turned to her sharply, their eyes wide. Draco blinked in surprise. Fizz laughed.

“That’s right, kiddos. I was sorted into the evil house.” She sipped her martini with an almost infuriating amount of glee. “I did say _wild_ guess.”

“Okay, first of all,” Draco was starting to feel defensive, “it’s _not_ an evil house. And second, really? I never would have thought of that.”

“Fizz, how come I know nothing about this?” Harry said, incredulous.

“I just never think to mention it. It’s not necessary information to anyone I know, really, since I’m mostly around Muggles. And honestly, what’s the big difference between a Slytherin and any other house, really? A Hufflepuff knows where to find resources, a Ravenclaw could tell you everything you need to know to get shit done, a Gryffindor will get the thing done, and a Slytherin- Well. A Slytherin would coordinate the whole thing, wouldn’t they?”

Harry had to agree. But they weren’t a fan of the current topic- Nothing personal, they just disliked it.

“You’re right, actually. Wow, never thought of it that way.” Ginny said, draining the rest of her Coke-and-Firewhiskey. “I think I’m going to call it an early night, guys. Girlfriend’s waiting at home with her boyfriend, and you know how I love my sleep.”

“Aw, you’re leaving me, Gin?” Harry said, arms outstretched for a goodbye hug. Ginny laughed and hugged them tight.

“I’ll see you on Thursday, okay? Let me know if you need directions.” She smiled and they parted. She patted them on the back before turning to Fizz. “Good to see you again. And you-“ She turned to Draco with a glint in her eye. “You keep your eyes open, you’re not off the hook, yet.”

She was cheerful, even as she said this, which meant to him that she wasn’t being _entirely_ serious. But he knew what exactly she meant by her words, and so he gave a smile and a nod instead, extending a hand to shake hers again. And they did, Ginny grasped his hand with a _bit_ more firmness than necessary, which drove the point home.

Then she left, waving goodbye. Fizz sighed.

“I’m going backstage to change.” She announced, and left without saying much else. She did, however, squeeze Harry’s shoulder as she left, and smiled.

And now it was just Harry and Draco left, standing by the bar. Somewhere in between all of this, Olive had handed him his drink, and he didn’t notice. Harry, at some point, also ordered a third drink.

They stood in silence for a bit, as two seats cleared up and they took over them. There was an awkward moment- Harry had a long day, and Draco was just awkward in general. It’s hard not to be, when you’re still settling into the new personality you’ve carved out yourself in a desperate bid to be a better person.

“I’m glad you’re here, by the way.” He finally said. They looked over, surprised. “No- I mean, yes. I’m glad I can talk to you today. It’s… It’s been a long couple of days.”

“What a coincidence. Same here. Do you wanna talk about it? You can start.”

“I mean, sure.” He sighed and took a sip of his drink. He pursed his lips, and took in a deep breath. “So… I had a weird argument with my mother yesterday night. Long story short, I kind of have to move out soon. My mother’s trying to spike my drinks with stuff that’ll turn me into an actual puppet because she’s a homophobic piece of trash.

And you know that I had to go to Hogwarts this afternoon, which was hard, you’d know why. Ran into Slughorn, he made me help with a class, and now that I think about it, it was probably to make up for the fact that I poisoned his gift to Dumbledore because I was trying to kill Dumbledore… I failed hard on that, but, you know. It’s the principle of the thing.”

“That’s a long story in itself, Draco.” Harry laughed, taking a long, long swig. This passionfruit beer is really good. “I’ve got a longer one.”

“Oh, do you?”

“I’d like to think so. You didn’t have to cut your story down, Draco.”

He shrugged, not wanting to divulge too many details.

“Sorry to hear about your mother, though.” Harry said. “It sounds terrible.”

“Well, yeah. But she’s done worse.”

“Has she?”

“She’s genuinely killed people and was a Death Eater, so yeah.”

“… Alright, fair enough.”

“Tell your story, Potter.” Draco said, in a half-whiny tone. Harry laughed.

“Well,” they drank a bit more beer. “Long story short? It seems that everyone I know is moving on. Like, don’t get me wrong. I love them, but maybe they don’t value my friendship the same way I value theirs. I could go on, really- But maybe there’s too much to get through in one night.”

Draco blinked. That really was the long story short.

“That… That’s awful, Harry.”

“Isn’t it?” They sighed. “I wish I could sleep for a million years and never have to deal with this.”

But they smiled. They looked deep into Draco’s eyes, smiling _that_ smile. All of a sudden, Draco wished he had more to say other than _that’s awful._ It sounded more than awful- But how do you respond to all of that without sounding like he was pitying them? Better yet, how did you sound sympathetic when you’ve only learnt how to express empathy via backhanded dismissal and abject contempt?

“Well, at least you’re here to listen.” They added, swilling the half bottle that was left. “It’s nice. It _does_ make me a little bit happy to see you, Draco. It’s like I could tell you anything and nothing crazy could come out of it. Nobody who’ll freak out will have to know what’s going on. I don’t want to say inconsequential, but you know what I mean. I don’t think I could talk to Ron or Hermione about this stuff, they would freak out too much.”

“I mean,” he started, but wasn’t sure if he knew how to continue the sentence, so he didn’t. Harry chuckled.

“Do you feel like heading back to my place again? You know what I want.”

“Honestly, I don’t know if I do. Sex is one thing, yes. But it always feels like you’re looking for something else.”

“If you keep that up, I’m gonna think you actually care about me.”

“What? Of course I care about you.”

“Yeah, _barely._ ”

“Sure, we _just_ reconnected.” Draco pointed out. “But it’s wrong to say that I don’t care.”

“If you say.” Harry shrugged. “So, my place?”

“Oh, absolutely.”


	9. Regarding The J.K. Rowling Revelation

**Hello there, dear reader. It's me, Silent_Lex (or just Lex will do).**

**I know much of the community is distraught over the Jo Rowling tweets, and I know that I don't have to say anything about it since my story is already about the folks that JKR refuses to support. The irony of this is not lost on me- That I am writing a story for transgender and nonbinary people while the original creator of their world is a TERF.**

**A lot of the Harry Potter Fandom already know this, especially the older fans who've been here for a long time (I've been part of this fandom for just over 10 years now, but the story began even before I was born). And what I think we should do instead of calling for the Death of the Author is to acknowledge the problematic nature of the creator of this world, but also realise this world has existed for so long that it's now far, far bigger than who JKR is or was.**

**Don't get me wrong- She profits from everything that's licensed Harry Potter material. From books and movies and officially licensed merch and now even a play. But she doesn't own much of this world anymore. We buy merchandise made by fans, for fans. Merchandise which profits JKR will never see because they are feeding the youths who dare to create and thrive and love this world. _We_ control so much of Harry Potter now, not JKR. There are parts of this fandom that she can't reach. On this platform alone, AO3's legal team makes certain of the right we have to this world, to mold it into what we have now.**

**This fandom is a safe place for many people of the LGBTQA+ community. It's not a place where JKR's friend Maya Forstater's manifesto can run amok. The people who ensure that this space remains an inclusive as well as _safe_ place will not accept that. I clearly don't and never will. That is what I mean when I say that this world that we write for and grew up with and love with all our hearts, has grown bigger than JKR can ever hope for. **

**You can love the Harry Potter world and still hate JKR. You _can_ do that. Look at Starkid's production of _A Very Potter Musical._ JKR doesn't profit from that one bit, but it remains so inherent to our community. You do not have to support JKR's ever-expansive wallet just to continue loving Harry Potter. Collect your merchandise from Etsy! Commission works from independent artists! Do whatever it takes to avoid giving money to JKR if it bothers you so, because it should bother you and it's okay that it bothers you. **

**You have the power to choose what you profit, you have every bit of power to avoid giving money to JKR and allowing hate and Transphobia to profit. It's okay to keep loving the story as long as you engage with it with this knowledge in mind.**

**This fandom is a safe place and it always will be. Transphobia isn't suddenly okay just because JKR said so, we've decided a long time ago that it wasn't acceptable in our fandom and it will always be unacceptable.**

**So comes the big question- Will I continue updating this story after hearing this news?**

**Yes.**

**Yes I will.**

**Because what will piss off JKR more than me writing a story full of representation accurate to my personal experience as a transgender, queer person of colour, than to keep writing this story full of wonderful people who love and celebrate transness and are proudly transgender living their best lives and unlearning the damaging mindsets that JKR's harsh world created for them. What would piss JKR more than a strong trans woman named Jolene (So close to Joanne), and Draco Malfoy unlearning his homophobia/transphobia. What would piss of JKR more than her own characters having completely unlearnt the very thing she imbued them with, having grown up and away from her ideas, and support a cause that she does not?**

**I think I'll keep writing that story.**

**Thank you all for reading! My next chapter is almost ready, so stay tuned!**


	10. The Harry Potter Problem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> CW: Sexual discussion, Implied sex, Foreplay (Few genital mention), Degradation kink, in the first half of chapter. Contains context for the second half and plot-sensitive information. Message me if you need to be filled in!

This may sound crude- But the way Harry likes it? It’s rough. They preferred their sex hard and fast. If it hurt, all the better. If they felt degraded and on the verge of tears after? Perfect.

 _‘You don’t have to be nice to me,’_ they said between gasps, _‘just do it.’_

That was not Draco’s usual style, but he aims to please.

Therefore ‘ _Whatever you say, Potter’,_ therefore _‘God, you tight fucking slut’,_ therefore _‘Wait, my leg’s cramping up- sorry.’_

Staying next to him, Harry thought, was the quietest their mind had ever been. Just the two of them in the darkness of Harry’s bedroom, their bodies only lit by the soft purple glow of their night-light. Other times, things just warped, fell in and out of place. Names got mixed up and fell into the well that housed their thoughts. Who is whom, where is what? Why is this happening, why am I like this?

There was everyone else, expecting, waiting, loving them.

And there was Draco Malfoy.

Between kisses, Draco liked to press his hands gently on their chest, just enough to make it hard to breathe, but not enough to make them pass out. He liked the feeling of someone breathing against his palm, the pounding of a heartbeat, the tides of blood coursing through his partner. In this case- There was Harry Potter.

“Please, Draco.” They whimpered.

“No.” He replied, soft, nipping at the skin of Harry’s neck. They gasped.

“Oh for fuck's sake, just bite me.”

“No.” Draco leaned down to kiss them softly. “I don’t think I will.”

Harry made a dissatisfied noise, then sighed, and draped their arms around his neck with a soft smile.

“Hmm, maybe something like this is nice sometimes. Someone I can count on as far as wanting to have sex goes.”

“Have you dated anybody in the last couple of years?” Draco asked, quietly, pushing their hair back.

“Nothing serious, just short little flings here and there.” They smiled into his touch, leaning in as Draco slid his hand down Harry’s cheek. His hand was a little cold, but soft.

“Same here.” He replied, as his hand continued to explore Harry’’s body a little further down, just missing the breast, sliding down their chest, coming to rest just above their diaphragm. “What’s your reason? Nobody interesting?”

“Nobody as hardcore.” They grinned, pushing against Draco’s shoulder and flipping him over. They straddled his legs and peered over him, triumphant. He laughed.

“Damn you, Potter.”

“Stop being a tease, then, Malfoy.”

“I’m not being a tease, I just don’t feel like being aggressive today.” Draco mumbled, his fingers now tangled in Harry’s hair. “It’s sort of the only time I have to really talk to you.”

“What, when we’re rolling around half-naked in my bed? Seems counterproductive.”

“You say that-“ He pulled Harry in and smirked. “But I think you like this.”

Harry scowled and pushed a hot, deep kiss into Draco’s waiting lips. They’d like to kill that smirk, rip it off that gorgeous face of his. Draco returned the gesture in kind, grabbing their hips and grinding against their pants, just to let them know that he felt the same.

When they came up for air, Draco watched Harry’s expression, as it wavered and shook. He reached for Harry’s cheek and brushed a thumb close to their tear ducts.

“Something on your mind?”

“Not really.”

He tutted.

“You’re a bad liar.”

“Am I really?”

“You are.”

Draco sat up and put his arms around Harry’s shoulders like they did before, keeping them at eye level. Harry looked away first, then sighed and laid their forehead on Draco’s shoulder.

“Why do you have to corner me like this, Malfoy? You were always cornering me in school.”

“I’m not that sort of bully, you know that. I’m all talk.”

“Well…” They sighed. “It would’ve been nice if things could’ve been friendlier between us, I think.”

There was a pause, and Draco wondered how they got to this point, conversation-wise. Weren’t they supposed to be doing something else, instead? Suddenly, he wished they were having sex instead.

“Why? Did you fancy me or something?”

“A little.” Harry mumbled, and Draco’s eyes widened. He looked over at the mass of hair resting on his shoulder, and almost shrugged them off in disbelief.

“Really? You did?”

“Yeah. Stupid, right? It was nothing- Just stupid. Just a stupid feeling.”

“Well- _I_ don’t think it’s stupid.”

“It sort of is.” Harry finally looked up. “I really thought I was over it.”

Draco sputtered. He stammered. He wondered what he should say- The words were throbbing in his chest and he was _dying_ to let them go. They felt easy in his mouth, just riding at the tip of his tongue. But they were not forming, his mouth was not moving and all too quickly, they were colliding in a shower of kisses, making out, snogging, everything crashing and falling and breaking into pieces.

He waited too long, and all of the words retreated down his throat, abandoned, unsaid.

Whatever else Harry had meant to say, they said it with their lips. They grew more desperate, sinking in deeper and deeper into Draco’s touch, not caring even when at one point Draco regained control on top and pulled their shirt off.

“I’m absolutely going to _ravish_ you.”

“Do it.”

“And you’re going to hate every second of this vanilla bullshit.”

“I dare you. Make me hate it.” Harry said, breathless, yearning for more of his lips. Their fingers got tangled in Draco’s hair, Draco’s hands were everywhere, all at once, their chest was heaving, the purple night-light’s glow illuminating every curve and edge of Draco’s lean body. All those shiny scars- They could just _kiss_ every single one away.

Their eyes met again, Draco watched them, searching for permission to continue. They heaved.

“Do it.” They hissed. Draco smirked.

“As you wish.”

* * *

He lay wide awake, with Harry sleeping soundly beside him, laying on his arm, light, the covers pulled all the way up and above their nose. He could listen to them breathe all night, if he never needed sleep.

Draco rolled on his side to brush away some of their hair just to see their face unobstructed by their glasses. His fingers found themselves gliding over the lightning scar, and he caught himself staring, wondering about it. Did Harry ever wish to hide it? Their body was covered with mild scars- here and there, from various injuries from a time before they had the luxury of being strangers.

This was a privilege too- The idea of sleeping together, nestled between the folds of Harry’s sheets would never have occurred to Draco before now.

“You know,” Draco whispered, to no-one in particular, “I wish you’d just told me that in school. That you fancied me.”

It would have made his life so much easier- So much easier, if they had just said it. Not that he would have responded in kind- Or known what to respond. But somehow, it felt like if Draco knew that Harry did not, in fact, hate his guts, maybe he would have felt a little lighter. More confused, maybe, but less angry. Or at least- That was what he wanted to believe.

What he felt in school was not love. He was fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, teenage. All of those feelings were so teenage, stupid and superficial. He liked the way Harry’s hair bounced as they walked, the way they laughed at the Gryffindor table with all of their friends. He liked the way Harry waved his wand and cast spells and he liked watching Harry casting spells. He hated the way that it felt, with all his heart. Love was weak- Loving a boy was _gay,_ weird, wretched. He wasn’t some kind of _freak._ So he hated Harry, hated everything about them, with all of his angst-filled teenage heart.

“I liked you too, you know.” He mumbled, only loud enough for himself to hear. Harry stirred beside him, softly murmuring something that he could not make out. “I liked you so much.”

But it was too late- and the feelings dissolved and fell down the drain. The unrequited and unheard tragedy of their teenage years, forgotten.

Until now.

“I wish you told me, Harry.” Draco pressed his lips to Harry’s forehead. “I wish I knew that you liked me.”

There was a silence, and Draco sighed. He tucked himself in, and got ready to drift off to sleep. It was quiet, and the night was over- Now it was late and he knew that he would feel the aftermath of his belated grief in the morning when he woke up. Sleep is a temporary relief, a procrastination of the feelings.

“I wish you told me too, Draco.”

His eyes flew open, turning over to face them as Harry’s eyes remained closed. But they had unmistakably spoken, and he moved closer like Harry’s words might have been lost if he didn’t.

But Harry remained silent, half-asleep, turning over and leaving Draco staring at the back of their head. He watched them fall back asleep, and soon lay back down, filled with shock and a feeling he could not pinpoint, and slowly, he too, fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

Waking up was more awkward than they both needed it to be. Harry ran their fingers through their hair wondering what had happened, slowly recollecting what was said the night before. Very quickly, a warmth had spread across their cheeks and they buried their face in their hands.

Draco sat up, and hugged his knees with a heavy sigh, staring out into open space.

They both sat awake in silence, waiting, wondering what to say, wondering who should say something first.

Turns out, it had to be Harry.

“… Last night was… Something.”

“Yeah.” Draco said, ruffling his hair. “It really was.”

“Are we going to talk about it?”

“I…” Draco pursed his lips and looked down. “I don’t know. Do you want to talk about it?”

Harry opened their mouth to answer, but then stopped. They pondered over it, and caught themselves falling into the rabbit hole of thought. They turned to face Draco.

“I want to shower.” They said finally, and Draco laughed.

“Good answer.”

“I didn’t answer. I’ll answer after we shower. We both reek, and I desperately want to brush my teeth.”

Draco rolled his eyes as Harry started to get out of bed, collecting their pants somewhere along the way, and pulling on a big sweater that was sitting on a chair by the door. Draco started searching for his, and found them lying at the foot of the bed.

“You can steal whatever clothes you want from me if they fit you.” Harry called as they left the room, smiling at him. If Draco had thanked them, they didn’t hear it while they walked down the hall to the bathroom. They were too busy thinking, caught up in all of that thinking. It’s what Harry did best- overthink, feel too much. Their thoughts kept going even as they sat in the tub, letting the shower head simply rain water over them. This was a feeling they disliked- A feeling like they were no longer in control.

Draco took Harry’s invitation and looked through their small closet. There were all sorts of different styles- Feminine, Masculine, some sparkled, some were velvet. He inspected a fuzzy purple cropped jacket, and wondered _why_ any sane person would wear that.

He chose a soft, oversized yellow hoodie. It wasn’t usually a colour he would choose, but Harry didn’t have any black clothes that would fit him- They all seemed to be just a little too tight, and he wasn’t about to risk it. He located his boxer briefs, and put them back on. He wondered why Harry kept the curtains drawn, and pulled them opened a little. Outside, the sun shone daggers into the room and pierced his eyes in one fell swoop. He shut them, and flopped down on the bed.

Harry’s shower habits were quick. They weren’t a fan of long baths, they much preferred to hop in and out. So when they returned they found Draco flopped on their bed, wearing a big, bright yellow hoodie they couldn’t help but laugh a little. Draco nearly leapt to his feet, but managed to stand up without looking like he was caught off guard.

“You look ridiculous."

“I have a pale, blue complexion. Warm colours are supposed to suit me, if Pansy is right.”

“But yellow, Draco? Really?”

“You said I could take anything.” He clambered over the bed and sulked, slightly. “My turn to shower- I’ll borrow a towel if you don’t mind.”

“Just grab one from the rack.”

“I’d grab _your_ rack.” Draco muttered, and Harry shoved him playfully with a short laugh.

Harry sat on their bed, drying off their hair with their smaller towel. They wondered if it was worth trying to grow their hair out- They hadn’t done it before, and the messiness of the mangled mop atop their head made it seem unwise.

Briefly, they wondered if they should’ve asked to shower together. It saved them water and the trouble of trying to wait for each other, which always lead to this sort of irritating awkward moments. But then again, it was nice to have time to themselves. A familiar feeling, to have only yourself to rely on.

Loneliness is an art form. It takes perfect practice, the motions of waking up beside strangers and empty beds, the crashing of every wave passing over you as you find yourself occupied with a book or a boring television show. It is the art of brushing your teeth every morning wondering if there was a point to oral hygiene if no one would be there to see it.

And realising that alas, there will be people to see, and there is still you.

They put on a plain T-Shirt and some shorts, and set about making breakfast instead of moping about in bed.

Harry is a good cook. They know exactly what to add, what to do. But they don’t know how to muster the energy to do it all for themselves. Feeding others? A breeze. Feeding themselves? A pointless mission.

They cracked eggs into the pan, listened to the sizzle of bacon. They’d have to go out and buy more- having used up the last of the pack. They wondered what else could be made for breakfast, other than pancakes, eggs, toast, bacon or beans. If Draco would be over more often, perhaps they should learn more breakfast foods. God forbid, they learned some lunch and dinner-appropriate meals too.

“Something smells good.” Draco said, entering the kitchen with a small towel draped around his bare shoulders. He’d entered shirtless, though wearing the jeans he had arrived in, and Harry nearly dropped the spatula they were using to flip the bacon with.

“Jesus, Draco.” Harry said, almost incredulous. “Don’t do that.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“Put your shirt back on- I know what your abs look like.”

Draco rolled his eyes and chuckled, returning to Harry’s room to put the yellow hoodie back on. When he returned, Harry was plating.

“I really like bacon, by the way.” Draco said, reaching for a plate before Harry could insist on serving. “Though, back at home my mother thinks it’s peasant food.”

“Oh do tell, Draco, what does your rich family eat? Jam spread on untoasted white bread, crusts cut off and served as little triangles?”

“You laugh, but we do sometimes. We usually have more of a spread to choose from. A breakfast buffet, sort of. Weird, because there’s literally only three of us now. It made sense before, when we usually had guests in and out. Now that everything is over, it’s always too much food for all of us, and I think they’re supposed to throw the leftovers out, but I tell the Elves to take some for themselves. And my family, being traditionalist people, are very into having everything be _painfully_ English.”

“Y’know, I’ve always wondered about your family, but now I just realise they the entire thing with them is 100% just an _aesthetic_ they were going for.”

“I spent a majority of my life as a modern-day Victorian Goth, yes.”

“Your family is so painfully white _._ ” Harry laughed, finally picking up a fork to begin eating. Draco was already wolfing down the simple breakfast, thinking about the old etiquette lessons he was happily abandoning. In the presence of friends, nobody would be there to tut at him, or peer down and contemptuously hit his knuckles with the wooden part of a fan.

_Sit up straight, Draco, we don’t want to become a hunchback._

Here, Draco hunched comfortably over his plate, though still politely and neatly finishing off the breakfast.

Harry, upon finishing their meal, attempted to take Draco’s plate from him, but he held fast onto it.

“We could, perhaps, wash them together.” Draco said, keeping his iron grip on the plate.

“Or, you could, perhaps, sit your arse down and let me do it.” Harry tugged at the plate with a bit more force, but Draco was adamant.

“Or perhaps, Harry, you could admit that you don’t need to be in control of every situation.”

“Perhaps, Draco, but I insist. You are my guest.”

“I am your _friend_ , Harry. Let’s at least try to be friendly and more than just cordial.”

Harry sighed, letting go of the plate. Gleefully, Draco brought his own utensils to the sink and turned the faucet on. Harry began washing their dishes with dramatic melancholy, which Draco found amusing. He splashed them, and laughed when they squeaked indignantly.

“What was that for?”

“You looked miserable to be fairly splitting the labour of household matters, so I took it upon myself to cheer you up.”

“Prick.” Harry said, and when Draco seemed all too pleased with himself while setting his washed utensils aside, they splashed him too. He gasped, putting a hand on his chest as if he may be clutching at some pearls.

“The _audacity!”_

“You started it!”

Draco laughed, running the faucet quickly and flicking more water at Harry, who returned in kind. They spent a few minutes this way, dishes forgotten and wet on the countertop, flicking water at each other with far too much glee, laughing, the gentle chaos of their friendly, water-fuelled duel filling Harry with unadulterated joy and excitement. Draco grabbed Harry’s wrist mid-splash, preventing them from splashing him again, and sprinkled more water on them, who laughed and spun this way and that, trying to get out of the hold, ending up slamming poor Draco against the refrigerator and their arm stopping themselves from crashing directly into Draco’s face.

“Ow.” Draco laughed, breathless. Harry hadn’t realised how out of breath they were, too.

They stared at each other for a while, Harry’s eye’s darting everywhere, from his lips, back to his eyes, to the space between his fringe and his forehead and the bit of his exposed shoulder where the sleeve of the hoodie had slipped. They stared, then looked back at the dishes.

“We should finish those.”

“Agreed.”

The rest of the dishes were done in silence, and Draco made himself comfortable on the living room couch while Harry sat gloomily beside him, seeming deep in thought.

Some way or another, he could understand why.

“Have you decided yet?” Draco asked, hesitant but refusing to let Harry figure it out. Harry shrugged.

“I think we should talk about it.” They replied. “I just don’t know how.”

Draco thought to answer, counting the words over in his head. What would be appropriate?

“We don’t have to if you’re not ready.”

“Says you.” Harry smiled, their eyes filling with a sort of melancholy. “You’re the one who barged back into my life.”

“You bought me a drink.”

“You asked if I was bringing you home.”

Draco laughed, but it was a hollow sound and reverberated off the space that was beginning to form between them. Harry sighed.

“That was unfair of me. I’m sorry, Draco. I’ve got a lot on my mind.”

“I don’t mean to pry,” he said, his fingers twitching and tapping the couch restlessly. “But if you want to start somewhere, maybe we could start from when we were in school.”

“Draco,” Harry looked up with that smile of theirs- _that smile-_ and it struck Draco right where it hurt. “I think that might be the problem.”

Their shoulders slumped, and they leaned back on the couch with a heavy sigh.

Draco, again, couldn’t find the words. What are the right words, again, when things are hard to talk about? What are the right things to say, which combination of tones and syllables would be the right ones? Is there even an answer? If so, could someone grant it to him, could someone tell him how to resolve this equation, that is the Harry Potter Problem?

“I’m not good at talking about myself.” Harry said, almost suddenly, still staring at the ceiling. “I’ve had trouble talking about myself my whole life. I grew up in a closet under the stairs at my Aunt’s and Uncle’s. Out of sight and out of mind, making no noise and speaking as few words as possible. I wasn’t really supposed to have a presence other than to simply go along with what I had been told. Do as you are told, take the path of least resistance.”

Harry closed their eyes, starting to sink into their past a little bit. When they closed their eyes sometimes, they could recall dust falling from above their head, the words ‘You would be so pretty if—’ spilling easily from their Aunt’s lips. A young child under the steps outgrew and outgrew every shell they were forced into.

“When I met you, it kind of felt like the first time I ever really said no to something. My Aunt cut my hair short every summer, wouldn’t pay for a real haircut, and every time I went back to primary school it was a new sort of mess. I never said anything about it, no matter how badly I wanted to. Kids would bully me about it- My cousin would stick my head down the toilet and flush it, and I never really said anything about that. You- You pissed me off so hard it unleashed something in me. I think it was anger. I hadn’t really felt angry enough to fight back before.”

Finally, Draco had a retort.

“Really, Harry?” He said, all too quickly, and hesitated to continue. Harry looked at him with a questioning gaze, and he took that as permission. “That’s why you fancied me?”

“You’re cute.” They shrugged. “That helped. I knew it was a crush- Just some dumb thing. I didn’t really want to, I realise now that sometimes we crush on people we shouldn’t, knowing full well what they believe in and what they stand for. I wouldn’t have dated you in school. That’s too many principles broken- You know what I stood for, even back then. We were set up against each other from the start. But I liked that we were supposed to be rivals. I liked that I had someone to fight, that at least there, I had the _choice_ to fight back. Despite everything, you taught me something important. About fighting back.”

 _What happened, then?_ Draco thought. _Where did that resolve go?_

Harry deflated, sinking back into the couch like their outburst of furious confidence had caused them to defy the laws of gravity the briefest of moments. They stared at the ground, hugging their arms together.

“But then something happened. Suddenly there was just me and you and the blood on the bathroom floor and I had just never seen so much blood. I fancied you, and I hated you, and you- you were crying like you were _scared_. You weren’t a good person but for fuck’s sake- I didn’t mean to do that to you. I was supposed to fight back- It was supposed to be _teenage shit_. You could’ve died, Draco. I could have killed you.”

It was easy to shut his feelings out- Remembering the pain, the cold water of the bathroom tiles. It was easy. But he had spared Harry in the boiling dungeons of a mansion. That meant something. Something he didn’t know how to admit.

They both sat there, quiet, brewing over the silence that threatened to overflow. Draco put his feet up on the couch and sat cross-legged, even though that was bad manners, terrible manners that his mother would’ve scoffed at. But he was comfortable. He was learning to be comfortable.

“You were very attractive to me.” Draco said softly. “At least, that’s what it was at first. You know how I was- Seeking attention. Seeking some semblance of recognition from my family. I wanted some kind of glory, the kind I could bring back to my Father and have him tell me he was proud. That’s all I wanted. You wouldn’t let me. You spoiled every moment I could’ve had. That’s why I hated you.”

Harry rolled their eyes, drained, too tired to scoff.

“When did you start fancying me?”

“I don’t know. But I might think Fourth year.” He smiled. “The way you looked, fighting that Dragon. I might have had a couple passing thoughts, just random feelings here and there throughout the years before, but there, right then. I saw you, unfiltered through the lens of a racist little cunt.” (Harry almost laughed) “Just a handsome someone on a broom, defeating a dragon, like you were fearless. I saw you, brave, fearless, and in that moment I caught myself admiring you. I tried to kill that feeling- No, absolutely not, god, no. That’s _gay_ and I’m not _gay._ That’s gross. Disgusting. That feeling? It’s hate. I loathe you with all my heart- I’ll make some buttons, that’ll show him!”

Harry rolled their eyes again, if only because this time they could shake their head and chuckle too. It was an improvement and Draco hoped that his theatrics were helping. Or else his embarrassment would’ve been all for nought.

“I hated that feeling. Hated it until I thought I had killed it, conquered that feeling with all the Occlumency I had in my body. And in a way, I did.”

He was shaking a little bit, but he wasn’t sure why. Sitting on a chair, his Aunt Bellatrix hovering over him, sneering, threatening to rip every piece of his memories out, taunting him, whispering in his head. The Dark Lord does not like weaklings- You know that, don’t you Draco? Close your mind, don’t you dare let those filthy _Mudbloods_ in. He shut it tight- Before Bellatrix could discover his secrets. Before he had to face that reality.

“I’ve had a lot to learn. I’m comfortable with knowing those feelings now- And I’m comfortable saying that they never fully left because I never took the time to think them through. It doesn’t excuse who I was, I wouldn’t want it to. I think that who I was is just as important to who I am now, because it means something to me. It means that I know exactly how fucked up I was as a person. The full-on homophobia really sealed the deal.”

“You had no choice but to hide,” Harry offered helpfully. “You grew up that way.”

“I know. Though really, I should’ve learned. I wasn’t smart enough to realise that none of those people from back then would have bent over backwards for me, the way I did. None of them would have put in that much labour for me. So I left that school of thought, instead.”

“How noble.”

“No. It’s just choosing to what’s right, even if it isn’t easy.”

You’re a better person than I am, Harry didn’t say. They wondered it, if there was a way to tell Draco that talking to him was helping more than they cared to admit.

“You know,” Harry said instead. “Mrs Weasley took some time to get used to it. The gender thing- I was out as a trans guy back then, I didn’t know what nonbinary was yet. She didn’t really get it- But she tried really hard. Arthur Weasley got it. Never messed up a pronoun. Fred and George offered to prank transphobes. I’m thankful for them, the Weasleys treated me like family, my whole life.”

“Was it hard to leave?”

“It was.”

“But I’m guessing you had to, right?”

“In my head, maybe. I just wanted out- I didn’t leave straight after the war, I had been staying at the Burrow for a couple weeks and it felt like everything was falling out of my reach. I was being Owl’ed this way and that, an interview here, an interview there, the Aurors came and wanted me on their team. I couldn’t take it- I couldn’t even take knowing that Molly and Arthur and everyone were nursing this huge hole in their lives- This grief.”

Draco took Harry’s hand and he squeezed it. Harry reciprocated the gesture, albeit weakly.

“When the Weasleys lost Fred, I lost family, too.” Harry said. “And the world didn’t care. The world didn’t care about what the Weasleys wanted- It was like they were just _accessory_ to who I was. I couldn’t define, on my own terms, what those people meant to me. I couldn’t control the shape my own narrative took, I couldn’t control which path I went. And I thought, like, _fuck_ , that has been my whole life.

My entire life I was supposed to be this great hero, this prophesied Golden Child. My entire life was pulled this way and that by puppet strings and I just… I had no control. There was always someone else in control, someone else always held the reins. Even the decisions _I_ made, the resolve _I_ built… None of that was mine. I became exactly what I was expected to become. A Hero. Like fighting Voldemort was a choice I made. Like dying, too, was a choice I made.”

Dumbledore’s plans were ruthless. There was no room for Harry to decide, to _choose._ There was a war to fight, a prophecy to fulfil. A Hero to groom. In some way, Draco could relate to that.

“So you left.”

“Yeah. Selfish, right?”

“No.” Draco said, and when Harry looked up at him, those wolf-grey eyes were trained forwards, piercing, and he was squeezing their hand tightly

Harry let out a heavy sigh, staring up at the ceiling, contemplating something that even they weren’t sure of. When they finally looked up at Draco, they were smiling again.

“I think I’m tired of talking about this. I appreciate it, though.”

“I think I’m done talking about it, too.” Draco admitted. “But I do like listening to you talk. I think I like the part where I get to learnmore about you.”

“How about this, Draco,” Harry said, getting up from the couch. They stretched. “We can go on a date, if you’d like. Not _Somewhere Queer_ , we go on an actual, honest-to-goodness date. We can sit down, and we can have a real conversation and catch up properly without being half-naked and on my bed.”

“I would like that.” Draco said, wondering why Harry had stood up, following them with his eyes to their bedroom. When they disappeared behind the door, Draco stood up and followed them for real. “We could go to a cafe. I know somewhere nice, and Muggle. They’re mostly sandwiches and croissants, but the atmosphere is good. We could go there.”

Harry laughed, pulling a suitcase out from under their bed.

“I could go for a croissant. I’ll text you a date?”

“I’m literally free any time. We could go the day after you get back from the Weasley’s.”

“I’m not sure when I’ll be back. I’m probably going to be staying with them for a little while, but I’ll be sure to text you before I get back.”

“I’ll be waiting, then.”

Harry smiled, starting to rifle through their closet for clothes to pack into their suitcase. Draco began looking for his bag, which he found lying by the nightstand. He stuffed his shirt from the previous night into it.

“I’m taking this hoodie with me.”

“It looks ridiculous on you.”

“It’s extremely comfortable _and_ it’s my colour. I might start wearing more yellow, you are revolutionising my style.”

“Your parents are going to kill you.”

“I’ll stay at Pansy’s place, then. I refuse to be colour blocked. Who are you, Anish Kapoor?”

Harry dropped a hanger they were replacing into their closet and burst out laughing. Draco broke out a goofy, unrestrained grin.

“I hate you so much! I can’t believe I’m _sleeping_ with you! I can’t believe I allowed this in my bed! That was terrible, Draco! Absolutely horrible!”

“But you’re laughing!”

“ _Fuck you.”_ Harry said, wheezing, trying to stop laughing. “I’m trying to pack my things for the road trip, and I cannot believe you’re here distracting me with your terrible, terrible banter. Shoo, Draco, shoo. I’ll see you when I see you, _jerk.”_

Harry flapped their hands at Draco flippantly, both still laughing, and when that didn’t work they started playfully shoving Draco towards the door. He threw his bag over his shoulder, and they stared at each other for a moment, not quire sure what to do or say.

Finally, Harry leaned in and gave him a quick, gentle kiss on the lips. It felt right, and Draco seemed happy with it.

“I’ll see you when I get back.”

“I look forward to that.” Draco smiled. And with that, he set off towards the lift, and Harry waved goodbye. They had more packing to get to, a road-trip to plan.

It was a good thing that Bugster could still handle another road trip.


	11. The Road Not Taken

“You’ve got everything with you, yes?” Jolene said, helping Harry load their suitcase into the trunk. They sighed as they closed it.

“No. Can’t bring you with me.”

“Aw, love. You’ll be alright. They’re your family.”

“You are too, you know.” Harry hugged her tightly, pressing their face into her shoulder. “I know I’m only gonna be going for a few days but I’ll miss you.”

“You sap.” Jolene squeezed them. “Bring me back a souvenir, won’t you? A recipe card or something.”

They could tell she was joking, but she was severely underestimating how much Harry loved her. They made a mental note to do _exactly_ that.

“I better get going.” Harry said, sighing. Jolene gave them another tight hug.

“You’ll be alright. Be good now, Buggy.” She patted the car good-naturedly, and Harry laughed.

With that, Harry took off, in the middle of the afternoon, the map open on their phone and sitting securely in its mount. They sighed. It has been a while since they drove anywhere further than their home, the furthest they’d been was to go to a farmers’ market at Jolene’s insistence. Other than that, they hadn’t been on a proper road trip in ages.

They opened a pack of chocolate digestives with their teeth and started snacking. If they were going to be driving for over three hours it was important to keep their spirits up. It was why they had music playing, snacks and some fizzy drinks in a cooler to help them through it. Not that it was a _hard_ thing to do, driving.

They had bought their car secondhand from the owner of a restaurant, in a seaside town they found themselves in after several days of hitchhiking. The owner was old and had no real use for it, so he sold Bugster to them. They had to learn to drive, and stay with the owner and his daughter for a while before the license showed up, but it was all-around a lovely trip.

Driving down the city highway was alright, was repetitive and boring, but sometimes they would go off the main roads and find themselves passing rows and rows of empty fields, farmlands. Sometimes, they were forced to stop and sleep in the car, so they sat on the roof looking at the stars.

There was something there that they were missing- All those years with their magical life, all those years forgetting that there was an entire life they had forgotten about.

This is what you could’ve been, Harry. They thought this as they walked those countless city streets, the businessmen and women going about their day, darting in and out of offices and talking on their phones about meetings and numbers.

Or maybe this is what you could’ve been, Harry. They watched bonfires in open fields, joined in spontaneously when a group of young lads spotted them eating dinner on the roof of their car.

_“Oi! Yer got any alcohol, mate?”_

_“Wh- Oh, uh, I’ve got this bottle of whiskey? Almost empty, thou-”_

_“Eyyy! Yer wanna join us, mate? Got a bonfire goin’, Mike’s gonna fry us some sausages and we’re gonna get sloshed all night.”_

_“I have to drive.”_

_“Pish. Yer in a hurry or wot?”_

_“Well, no-“_

_“Ahh come on, mate, don’t be a wuss, join us.”_

They had a good time, in spite of themselves. The fire was warm and the sausages weren’t half bad.

The lad named Mike told awful, crude jokes all night, everyone got tipsy and told stories in the way that toxic masculinity forces, the boys started opening up about their deep fears after they had settled into their drunken states. It’s the only state that lets them be vulnerable. The lad who called Harry over- Kyle, his name was- started talking about his mother, how she was ill, how she had been ill for a while.

_“It’s pretty shite, watching ‘er go. Sometimes ye just wanna hug ‘er tight and say ye love ‘er but she’s all tubed up and well- I can’t, ya know?”_

_“S’pose yer oughta cherish what you’ve got.”_

_“How ’bout you, Harry? Yer got folks waiting?”_

_“No. They died.”_

_“Ah, shite man, sorry to hear.”_

_“Don’t be. I was just a baby.”_

Kyle gave Harry a heavy pat on the back, solemn. Harry took a longer swig from the bottle.

 _“Ever wish ye knew ‘em?”_ Asked the lad named Markus.

_“Sometimes. People tell me they were heroes and stuff- Activists. My aunt and uncle adopted me and they were shit.”_

_“Bollocks to them.”_

_“But,”_ Harry smiled to themselves, drunk, full of memories of a different time. _“My best mate’s family was good. Took me in, y’know?”_

_“Cheers to that.”_

They fell asleep in the open field, the bonfire roaring, and when morning came Harry drove slow, leaving the bottle of whiskey behind and trying not to let the hangover affect the way they were driving. They left before the others woke up- There was no real reason for them to stay behind and hang out with them more. They’d just end up digging a deeper hole of lies.

“In three hundred metres, turn left.”

The GPS almost spooked Harry back to attention- They blinked at the road, merging into the left-most lane. They’ve got to pay more attention to the road, that was dangerous.

Harry turned left as instructed. As they kept straight, the ‘Exit’ sign finally came into view. They sighed and put another biscuit in their mouth. This is going to be a long drive.

* * *

For all that went right or wrong with the world, there was always music at the Burrow. Celestia Warbeck was always playing somewhere, and for all that was going on, Mrs Weasley still tended to busy herself with household things- She disliked it most when there was nothing to do, or nothing to be done. She liked the motion of doing things, hence the knittings and the baking, the joys of activity. Of providing.

“Mum, let me help. You should rest.” Bill said, reaching for the stew she was busy stirring. She slapped his hand away with the end of the spoon.

“Don’t you dare. You go attend to my grandkids- Don’t leave Fleur to do all the work.”

“Charlie’s with them.” Bill argued. “You should be resting today, Mum.”

“There are some gnomes in the gardens that Ronnie might need help with.” She put her hands on her hips, stern. “Go, help your brother.”

“You’re not gonna win, Bill.” Charlie called from the living room, midway through a game of patty-cake with a giggling Victoire, who was turning four years old and delighted by everything. “Mum’s gotta do what Mum does.”

Bill huffed, and reluctantly left the kitchen to go sit with Charlie, Fleur and his daughters. Victoire reached up at him, excited, jumping up and down.

“Papa, carry me!” She exclaimed. Everything a four-year-old says is in exclamation marks, Bill thought, as he hoisted her up into his arms.

“You’re getting too big to be carried, Victoire. What am I going to do when you turn five?”

She stared, horrified at the mere suggestion. She threw her arms around Bill and buried her face into his shoulder.

“I’ll never grow up! I’ll stay small forever!”

“Okay, okay.” He laughed and pat her on the head. Victoire sniffled, but didn’t cry.

“You are awful, Bill.” Fleur said, as Dominique busied herself with a pile of colourful blocks on the floor. Charlie took over in paying attention to the child, almost on clockwork. “You make your oldest worry on her own birthday.”

“I didn’t mean it like that.” He argued, Charlie rolled his eyes. “Oh come off it, Charles.”

“My lips remain sealed and I’ve said nothing.” Charlie put his hands up in surrender, and Fleur laughed. Victoire looked up, her eyes darting directly to her mother.

“Mama, what’s so funny?”

“Oh nothing, _mon chou._ ” She lifted her out of Bill’s arms and into her own. “Your papa is just being silly. No worry- you will have many hugs, even if we are tired.”

“Hooray!”

Bill chuckled, and kissed Victoire on the cheek, and then Fleur.

“I’m going to go see if Ron needs any help in the garden.”

“Should you not check on George, _cheri?_ I have not seen him all day.”

“He’s probably sitting in the woods again.” Charlie stretched. Dominique had knocked over the stack of blocks and was now clapping her hands gleefully. “Oh, what! How could you! We’ve been working on that for a whole five minutes!”

“ _Bah! Bah!”_

“Yeah, all gone!” Charlie exclaimed, dramatically flopping over on the ground as the toddler burst into giggles. “How dare you laugh, small one! How dare you laugh at my anguish!”

When Dominique only laughed harder, Charlie took to picking her up and bouncing her, gently tossing her in the air as she squealed. Victoire crossed her arms, clearly upset by this.

“My turn, Uncle Charlie!” She reached for him, and Charlie set Dominique down on the sofa to toss Victoire up in the air, to which Dominique also crossed her arms and scrunched up her face. Her lips trembled, and then she let out a loud wail.

“No! No!” Dominique cried, and Charlie huffed and put Victoire down.

“No! It’s _my turn!”_

“Oh, don’t fluster your Uncle Charlie so, _mon filles!_ ”

“I’m gonna go look for George.” Bill said softly, giving Fleur a parting peck on the cheek and departing the living room to head into the family garden.

Ron was there, kicking gnomes. He seemed to be having a tough time, as the gnomes were beginning to clamber over him, and Hermione was sitting nearby with Ginny, watching him work.

“-Or, Gin, you can _help me_ with the gnomes!”

“But you’re providing us with some quality entertainment, Ronnikins. Why stop now?”

“You guys are having a good time.” Bill said, kicking a gnome in the direction of the old Ford Angelia on his way towards them. “Have you seen George?”

“Nope. He’s probably in the clearing” Ron panted, picking a gnome from his ankle and kicking it beyond the fence. “And I _YEET-“_

“That’s not a real word, _Ronald!”_

“Wow, he actually said _yeet_ out loud.”

“It’s a fucking meme, guys, come on.”

“Language.”

“Sorry.”

“Is Harry coming?” Bill asked, and he nudged a couple of gnomes aside. Without even thinking about it, he had started to help Ron. “I heard Mum wrote to him.”

“Them.” Said Ginny, Ron and Hermione at the same time. 

“Oh.” Bill said, after taking a pause. He picked up a gnome and chucked it over the fence. “Damn, these pricks are getting better at finding their way back in.”

“I wanted to get some Gnome-icide, but Mum said no.”

“And I say no, too. It’s inhumane.”

“They’re literally _garden pests,_ ‘Mione. Don’t tell me you’re not gonna salt the garden slugs.”

“You leave the slugs alone! They’re important to the ecosystem, especially the birds. _Salting slugs,_ really?”

“Anyway, Harry’s coming.” Ginny interrupted. “But I still think Mum should’ve asked us before she wrote them. They’re still pretty fucked up.”

“I can get that.” Bill sighed. Ron kicked the last gnome out, and finally heaved a sigh. “That’s that. For now.”

He started to head towards the trees behind their house, but Ginny stood up and stopped him.

“I think George might need some space. Come hang out with us, we’re waiting on Harry. They should be getting here anytime now.”

“They’re driving?”

“Yeah. I think it’s like what happened with George.”

Bill leaned against the wall, habitually retrieving a pack of smokes from his back pocket. Then he remembered that he couldn’t be smoking around pregnant women, and replaced it in his pocket.

“Is Fleur alright with you smoking?” Hermione asked. He shrugged.

“It’s not uncommon where she’s from, so she doesn’t really mind it herself.” Bill said, opting to flick his zippo on and off instead. “Just as long as the kids don’t see me or Charlie doing it.”

“You and Charlie shouldn’t smoke.” Ron said, taking out his Out-Putter. He clicked it once, and the flame from Bill’s lighter was immediately sucked into it. Bill grimaced. “Mum wouldn’t be happy about it.”

In the distance, the sound of an engine began to grow closer. Ron and Ginny stood up, and watched as a lime green Mini Cooper rolled into view. It parked itself right beside the Ford Angelia, and Bill watched Harry step out, their hair a messy mop upon their head, glasses slightly askew, looking small and sickly-thin in an oversized jumper. Ginny ran forwards to hug them, Ron and Bill following close behind.

“You’re late!” Ginny exclaimed, hugging them tightly. They hugged her back gently.

“I tried, okay? GPSes start to fail somewhere around the edge of more magical places.” They grumbled, letting go of Ginny to hug Ron as well. “How are you doing, mate?”

“Pretty damn good.” Ron gave Harry an equally tight hug.

“It’s good to see you back here.” Bill said, and when Ron let go of Harry he put his hand on their head and ruffled their hair. “Good god, I do miss doing that.”

“Hi Bill.” Harry resisted the urge to shake Bill’s hand off. They were secretly enjoying it, but it was a secret, so they maintained their best attempt at a neutral expression. “How’s Fleur?”

“Oh, she’s good. Why don’t you come in? Everyone’s hanging out in the living room, Dad’s in the shed as usual…” Bill trailed off, pulling Harry’s luggage from their car and quickly ushering Harry inside. Harry waved at Hermione as they passed her still sitting near the gardens, but only because Bill was so eagerly pushing Harry towards the house.

“It’s alright, dear, I’ll wait out here…” Said Hermione, but Ron stayed behind to sit with her anyway.

The Burrow was just as Harry remembered it. Celestia Warbeck in the background, the smells of wood and smoke, and the bubbling of a stew delivering a tantalising smell that warmed the core. This was home- This was what home smelled like, what it felt like.

“Mum, Harry’s here!” Bill called, and Molly Weasley whipped around from the stew she had been toiling over. She had just been taking it off the heat in order to prepare some mashed potatoes. She turned the fire off, wiped her hands on her apron and rushed towards them to catch Harry in a bone-crushing hug.

“You’re here! Oh, oh my dear Harry.” She squeezed them, nearly cutting off their air supply but only nearly. Harry thought they might choke. They patted her back hesitantly, and she squeezed them just a little bit tighter. “It’s good to see you again.”

“Hi, Mrs Weasley.” They said, and Mrs Weasley let go with a sigh. Tears were welling up in the corners of her eyes, and they felt a pang of something. “Sorry that it’s been this long.”

“Don’t be silly.” She said, beaming. She looked so much older than they remembered. “You don’t mind rooming with Charlie, do you? Ron and Hermione are staying in Ronnie’s room for now, and Bill and Fleur, and of course Ginny has her own, and George—“

She stopped short, deflating, catching her breath. Harry started nodding furiously before she started rambling again.

“Oh it’s fine- Not a problem, Mrs Weasley.” They said, and she smiled. She gestured for them to follow, and led them into the kitchen. She stirred the stew a bit more and scooped up a small bit with her wooden spoon.

“Here, try some. Look at you- You’ve lost so much weight. You must be starving.” She said, holding the ladle out to them. “Careful, it’s hot.”

Harry blew on it, and took a small sip. It felt warm, spicy and familiar- everything about it felt familiar. This is what home was. This is what it felt like. They hadn’t had Mrs Weasley’s cooking in far too long. Why did they ever leave?

“It’s really good.” They couldn’t help smiling, because that’s what Mrs Weasley’s cooking felt like. “I haven’t had any stew in a long time.”

“Well that simply won’t do, as thin as you are you ought to be eating more.” She huffed. “Go, go sit by the _Floo_ with Charlie and the others. You haven’t met Victoire or Dominque, have you? Bill and Fleur’s girls- Dinner will be ready in just a bit, go have a seat. Bill will help you with your things.”

She fussed. She always fussed. Harry laughed, gave her a small squeeze around the shoulders and headed over to the fire like she instructed. They took pause, however, upon the sight of the two children. They hadn’t actually met any small children before- What now?

“Oh hey, Harry!” Charlie waved, and Fleur smiled. A small, blonde toddler was sitting in her lap, while a slightly older blonde child in a purple pinafore sat on the rug with the blocks. Harry felt immensely awkward and waved back at them.

“Say hello, _mon filles._ ” Fleur said, nudging the older toddler gently.

“Hello!” The older child said, waving enthusiastically.

“Good to see you, Harry. This is Victoire, she is four, and this is Dominique, she is two. Say hello to Uncle Harry, _mon chou._ ” She said, lifting Dominique’s chubby arm and waving with it. She shook her head and buried her face in Fleur’s chest, clearly shy and not wanting to interact.

“Oh- Uh…”

“Harry’s nonbinary, Fleur. Do you wanna be Uncle Harry or have you got something?” Charlie asked. Harry ran their fingers through their hair.

“I- Well. Just Harry will do, I think.”

“Or maybe Auntcle Harry.” Charlie joked. Harry laughed.

“That works too, honestly. Or I’d get stuck with Uncty.”

“That sounds like a foreign swear word, awful. We’ll stick with just Harry.”

“Smart.” Harry sat down on the rug. “What are you doing here, Victoire?”

“I’m going to build a _huge_ tower, then I’m going to be the king! Raaar!” She turned to Harry, baring her fingers like claws.

“If you want to roar, why not be a dragon?”

“No, Uncle Charlie’s gonna be the dragon.” She said matter-of-factly. “He’s got loads of them!”

Harry stared at Charlie, who shrugged.

“It was the best way we could explain my job to her.”

“That’s fair.”

Victoire turned her full attention back to the stack, balancing each block precariously on top of each other. Dominique rubbed her eyes and decided to stare at Harry. It was making them uncomfortable.

“You wanna head out for a puff?” Charlie asked, dropping his voice. Fleur sighed and pretended not to hear.

“Oh, sure, yes.” Harry replied, already standing up.

“Sorry, sis-in-law.” He chuckled, standing up. Fleur shook her head as Bill returned from Charlie’s room, having put Harry’s luggage upstairs. He patted Bill on the shoulder. “Thanks, man.”

“They’re _my_ kids.” Bill said, confused, as Harry and Charlie both headed outside.

The two walked over to an inconspicuous spot away from the windows. They’d have enough time to stub out a butt if someone came calling that way, or so Charlie said.

“When did you start?” Harry asked, accepting Charlie’s cigarette. Charlie lit his own, and used the end of his cigarette to light Harry’s. They thought they would blush, but they had done that for certain others before. It seemed like a flirty thing to do, but it also only seemed that way if Harry did it.

“Not long after Bill started, just before my Seventh. It’s his fault.” He chuckled. “We were used to doing all the impromptu parenting when Mum and Dad were out. Can you imagine the stress? There were so many kids. When Bill started, I did too. He wasn’t happy, but he didn’t exactly stop me. It was helping us stay awake. After that mess I guess the habit never went away. I smell like dragons most of the time anyway.”

He took a long drag of his cigarette and sighed. Harry did too, and almost gagged.

“What the hell is this?”

“Dragonbreath Reds.”

“ _Reds?_ Ew.”

“What, you only vape and do menthols or something?”

“It’s Menthol, cloves or _nothing_. You could’ve warned me.”

“Wait, I have cloves.” Charlie said producing a second pack from his back pocket. Harry stared. _Two packs?_ Rich bastard. “You should’ve asked. Wanna change?”

“I’m not wasting a whole stick.” Harry huffed, taking another drag. “I don’t normally smoke, anyway. I’ll deal with it.”

Charlie chuckled and replaced it in his pocket. He took another long drag.

“How have you been, Harry? Been hearing a lot from Gin.”

“Oh, no, what has she told you?”

“Nothing explicit. Just some random details. I don’t get all of it- but that’s just me being ace. You seem like you’ve got something good going, though. Even though I can see you’re still a mess.”

“Good thing I can count on you to call me out.” Harry grumbled. “First Ginny, then Ron, and now you.”

“Just me saying what I think is right. Ginny told me about your magic, too.” He said, putting the cigarette in his mouth but not puffing. “It’s like what happened with George.”

“What exactly’s happened with George? Gin didn’t say much.”

“Well, there’s not much to say, really. His wand doesn’t really want to do much other than shoot out a couple of sparks at a time, and he’s been getting really odd injuries when he tries a spell. For now he’s left the joke shop to some of his employees, since he’s got no way to put out anything new. Been that way since you’ve been gone.”

“Could he do anything before then?”

“He didn’t try, but I would guess not.” Charlie put out his cigarette. “Dad’s coming.”

Harry hastily stubbed it out on the side of the wall, and Charlie magicked away the smell. Arthur Weasley had poked his head out the shed, and gasped. He hurried over to them and threw his arms around Harry, beaming. Harry heard Charlie heave a sigh of relief.

“Well well well! Look who’s here. Good to see you again, Harry Potter.” He smiled, letting go and patting Harry on the shoulders. “You’ve gotten taller.”

“Good to see you too, Mr Weasley.” Harry said, feeling the cigarette vanish from their fingers. They glanced at Charlie, who winked and put his wand back in his pocket. “How have you been?”

“Good! As good as one can be.” He was chipper as always, but Harry felt an odd pang. Something like guilt. He didn’t notice. “When did you arrive? I didn’t hear you _Floo_ in or Apparate…”

“I think Harry drove here.” Charlie said. “That’s a fancy looking ride.”

“She’s cute.” Harry shrugged. “Her name is Bugster. She’s a Mini Cooper, I got her secondhand.”

Mr Weasley turned around and seemed to light up upon setting his sights on the car.

“You _must_ tell me everything. You’ve been living Muggle, haven’t you? Using those new telephone things and escalators…” He rambled off, walking briskly towards Harry’s car. Harry and Charlie looked at each other and shrugged. At least he learnt to say _telephone._

“It’s good that things don’t change.” Harry remarked.

“It really is.” Charlie agreed.

They followed Mr Weasley, who had started inspecting the car.

“ _Remarkable!_ She’s a lot like our Ford Angelia, isn’t she? She looks a little different though, in the radio part…”

“The previous owner put in a new stereo. There’s a cord that you can use to play music from your phone.”

“You can play music in your car from a _phone?_ ” He looked as if it were his birthday, beaming. “Muggles, they really do think of everything!”

Harry was happy about this- Almost too happy. Mr Weasley asked a ton of questions about the Muggle world, and Harry answered them at best they could. They left out details that might confuse him further, suddenly understanding why Ginny and the others hadn’t really explained the concept of a smartphone to him yet. It seemed to both fascinate and confuse him. Somewhere in the midst of this, Charlie hopped in with some commentary on how technology was evolving, and made several pointed suggestions about the way it could evolve.

“Who knows, maybe they’ll invent a transparent phone.” Said Charlie with a shrug. Mr Weasley laughed.

“I hope I’ll be there to see it! It’s fantastic, isn’t it? The wonders of Muggle development.”

Harry didn’t point out the environmental impact or the problems of their capitalistic society, because they liked talking about things. Mr Weasley didn’t ask them anything weird or invasive or triggering. He seemed genuinely interested in the life that Harry had been living without them, and none of them seemed to care about the fact that they’d been gone for so long.

“By the way, Mr Weasley.” They said, “I don’t use he/him pronouns anymore. I much prefer the singular _they,_ if that’s alright.”

“Oh, of course. Has there been a development?”

“Sort of. I don’t think I’m a boy anymore. I think I’m neither. Though sometimes I am a boy, though most of the time I’m not. Sometimes I’m a girl, too, but that doesn’t happen a lot.”

“ _Fascinating!_ Oh, do pardon my enthusiasm. I’d love to hear more about it, if you’re obliged to sharing.”

“Maybe not now.” Harry admitted. “It’s a long story. Sorry.”

He gave them a hard pat on the back.

“It’s no trouble at all, Harry. You don’t have to be sorry- It’s up to you.”

They smiled, in spite of themselves. The front door to the Burrow had swung open, and Mrs Weasley stood there with her hands on her hips.

“Boys! Dinner’s ready!”

“I see you haven’t told Molly.” He observed, and Harry chuckled.

“I forgot.” They said, and they walked back inside. Bill and the others were already seated, and Mrs Weasley was looking around, counting.

“Percy said he can’t make it down today.” Ginny said, taking her seat. “Said he’ll be here tomorrow, though.”

She placed the large pot of stew in the middle.

“I could’ve sworn I called George in for dinner…”

“I’ll go get him.” Charlie said, making a U-turn and heading out the door again. Mr Weasley sat down at the end of the table beside Bill. Harry took their seat beside Ginny.

“We should all start eating first.” Mrs Weasley said, her arms on her hips. “Or it’ll go cold. Oh- Harry.”

She gave them a slightly bigger helping of mashed potatoes. “You should be eating more.”

“Thanks, Mrs Weasley.”

* * *

“Hey man, Mum said it’s dinnertime.” Charlie said, stepping out into the clearing. George was sat under a tree, his eyes closed, his wand laying beside him. “You should join us.”

“I’m not hungry.” Said George, without opening his eyes. The side of his arm was covered in burn marks, which told Charlie that he’d been practicing again.

“Harry’s here too.”

“That’s cool. Haven’t seen him in a while.”

“Them.”

“Sure.”

George kept sitting there with his eyes closed, so Charlie sat down beside him. He offered him a cigarette.

“You know I don’t do that.” George said, taking one anyway. “Mum hates it.”

“She’s not gonna yell at you today. It’s Victoire’s birthday.”

“You know, I’ve never thought about that irony.” George mumbled through the unlit cigarette. He never lit his cigarettes, because he didn’t smoke. “She was born on this day. We get to pretend that today is for her birthday but after she sleeps we’ll all be staying up for him.”

“It is ironic.” Charlie agreed. “It sucks.”

“It really does.” George finally opened his eyes, and sat up a little straighter. “Harry’s back?”

“Yup. They look awful.”

“Anyone would look awful after shagging Draco Malfoy, methinks.”

“That’s definitely not the reason why. And I think Harry would prefer you didn’t make it seem like that.”

“Leave me be, I’m mourning my twin brother.”

“George.”

“Right.” He handed the cigarette back to Charlie. “Sorry. It’s that sort of day.”

“It would be weird if it wasn’t. I’ll tell Mum you’ll eat later.” He stood up and dusted himself off.

“No, I’m coming. It’s Victoire’s birthday. She would get sad if her favourite Uncle George wasn’t there.”

Charlie laughed, and they trudged back towards the house, George’s wand tucked back into his pocket.

* * *

The action of celebrating Victoire’s birthday was a ruse, primarily. It _was_ her birthday, but they were mostly gathered for something else. That much remained true, even if they pretended that it wasn’t. Victoire blew out four small birthday candles, ate half a slice of strawberry cake, played patty-cake with her Uncles and flew around on her brand-new toy broom with her not-pregnant Auntie and when bedtime came, she read aloud with her Papa and Mama.

(Harry watched the whole thing from the side, still unsure of how to proceed. Dominique apparently decided she was okay with their presence, and so they stuck themselves with carrying her around and babysitting.)

Soon, she grew sleepy, and she and Dominique had to be tucked into bed as her Mama and Papa sang her a gentle lullaby. Her Mama’s voice was magic, you see. She always sounded pretty, and her voice was so pretty that she and her sister always fell asleep before the song ended.

“Using your Veela song is cheating, Fleur.” Bill said in a hushed voice, exiting the room as quietly as he could.

“It works. Blame yourself for not having a more pleasant voice, _cheri_.” She replied, closing the door behind her softly.

“Your singing makes me feel things I shouldn’t feel while putting my kids to bed, Fleur. At some point, I’m going to think you’re doing it on purpose.”

“I could still have more children, I think.” She said, a playful smirk playing at her lips. “But we should go sit with your family.”

They went downstairs hand-in-hand, as the family sat around the living room with mugs of hot chocolate. Hermione was leaning on Ron’s shoulder, Harry sat between Ginny and Charlie, and Mr and Mrs Weasley were holding hands as George sat beside Mrs Weasley, a blanket around his shoulders.

“-But I’m not sure if expanding right now makes much sense, really, because I’m already stretched so thin as far as the main store is.” George was saying. Bill and Fleur joined the circle and were immediately served two floating mugs of chocolate. 

“I could help. I’ve been dying to quit my job with the Aurors anyway.” Ron said. Hermione nodded.

“He has.” She said. “He’s been complaining about it for months.”

“It just gets to me. Hits me in a place I don’t like. It was a good idea before I actually became an Auror. Now I just want out before I go insane.”

“You could join us.” George agreed, seeming to perk up. He sipped at his hot chocolate. “You’re a Weasley, it’ll work out.”

“We’ll see.” Ron said, shrugging. “You don’t seem to be ready yet.”

George sighed, and sipped at his hot chocolate. Mrs Weasley reached for his hand and squeezed.

“I’m not.” He admitted. “But I don’t want to stay still forever, you know?”

“You shouldn’t push yourself before you’re ready, though.” Bill said, putting an arm around George. “It’s rough. Even I haven’t left my desk job yet.”

“I know.” George smiled. “Thank you.”

Harry looked down at the floating marshmallow in their mug. They swirled it.

“How are you, Harry? I haven’t gotten the chance to ask yet.” George asked, and suddenly a lot of eyes were on them. They kept staring at the marshmallow.

“Oh- Er.” They hesitated. “I’m doing alright. I mean, as alright as I can be, I think. I’m- I’ve come out as nonbinary in the last couple of years or so. It’s- it’s been alright, living Muggle. I’ve made some Muggle friends, though I did end up making friends with a witch I met by accident… Yeah. All’s… Alright, you know?”

“Good.” George also looked down at his hot chocolate. “That’s good to hear.”

“Let’s not follow up on George with me.” Harry insisted. “I’m still sorting it out.”

“Sure. I’ll follow.” Said Ginny. “The Harpies are gonna let me back into practice once I let them know I’m alright. So I’ll be back in and playing as soon as my Mind Healer gives me an okay, which should be next week.”

“Ginny, dear, you fell thirty feet.” Mrs Weasley said, her voice trembling a little. “Shouldn’t you wait a little longer?”

“I think I’m alright. Quidditch is pretty damn important to my mental health so being able to be at practice is important. And anyway, if I’m not at least on reserve next season I won’t get paid.”

“My dear…” She sighed. “Alright. But please, take care of yourself.”

“I will, Mum. Don’t worry about me.”

“I’m your Mum.” She said with a slight smile. “I will always worry.”

Ginny laughed, and Charlie chuckled.

“You make me think of my Quidditch days. Sucks that I stopped playing, huh. Maybe Gryffindor would’ve had more of a chance if I stayed on.”

“Well, Harry joined and we had a pretty awesome winning streak after that.” George pointed out. “Do you still keep up with Quidditch, Harry?”

“Only for Ginny.” Harry grinned. “Sorry Ron, I’ve lost interest in the Cannons. They really do suck.”

“Damn you, Harry, you traitor.” Ron laughed, “I’ll spare you this time, but only because you’re still with the Harpies.”

Harry smiled, gesturing to Ron with their mug before taking a sip. Maybe filling themselves with something other than alcohol was good, too, sometimes.

“The weather is really nice in Romania this time of year.” Charlie said. “We could all go on vacation there together. It would be nice. I’d show you guys my dragons. Fleur’s really helped us all out with that sleeping spell of hers. Really revolutionised the way we handle them. I’d been saying it for years that it was possible to be more humane to the dragons, I’m glad we finally managed to do it.”

“It was nothing.” Fleur said, beaming with pride. “Veelas- We have a way around words. I am glad it worked on dragons. It was either it worked on dragons or I perished in the trial.”

“Cheers to animal welfare.” Hermione said, toasting. “I’m glad to hear that it all worked out.”

“Well the dragon trial was one thing, Fleur, but the second task…”

“Oh, do not remind me, Harry!” She exclaimed, mockingly placing her hands over her ears. “I had never suffered such humiliation before then.”

“You did alright, I think.” Ron supplied helpfully. “It’s just unfortunate that the Grindylows got to you first.”

“Defense magic has never been my forte. I’m a Charms witch.”

“You _are_ very charming.” Bill smiled. Fleur slapped him on the arm. “Ow- Sorry, just playing.”

George laughed.

“I can’t believe the Triwizard Tournament still concluded the way it did when it was clearly rigged. We should’ve had a do-over.” Harry said, sipping at their chocolate. “If we did, I bet you would’ve won, Fleur.”

“It would be unfair, Harry.” Fleur pointed out. “The whole thing should have been called off. No prizes or feast. They should have started an investigation.”

“Right.” Harry pursed their lips. “Right.”

Charlie patted Harry on the back.

“It is funny that I was there, at the beginning.” Fleur admitted. “I feel misplaced, in that time. Cedric was a friend, a new friend. That is what it meant to me. Not everything else.”

“I really liked Cedric.” Harry sighed. “I- Yeah. In that way. It’s wildly conflicting to watch both my crushes dancing together at the ball. I just can’t believe that’s where it all began, with Cedric. If I had been more selfish and grabbed the trophy myself maybe it wouldn’t have happened. I still think about it sometimes.”

“It was a good thing you did, Harry.” Fleur said gently. “You did not know. It is not your fault.”

“Every day I try to convince myself that.” Harry smiled sadly. “So far, it hasn’t worked.”

“I blame myself for a lot of things too, really.” George said, pulling the blanket a little closer around him. “Like how I should’ve been there with him, or we should’ve holed up together, all that stuff. I still wonder what it would’ve been like if I was there.”

“Percy was there.” Ron said. “He took it pretty hard.”

“That’s why he’s not here, too.” Charlie added, but he was saying it to Harry. “Percy has been late to all of the vigils for the last 5 years in a row. But he’ll be here tomorrow, as promised. We all know why he doesn’t come, and really, I think it’s become a habit for him to avoid what he doesn’t want to confront. I bet he’s overworking himself again.”

“Oh, I hope not.” Mrs Weasley said, clasping her hands. “I would hate to see him so tired.”

“He takes on a lot of work around this time of year, too.” Mr Weasley sighed. “He doesn’t say it, but he doesn’t need to.”

They sat in silence for a moment. George sipped more chocolate.

“I miss him.” He said aloud. “I miss Fred.”

“We all do.” Ginny reached out to hug him. “We miss him too. But you’re still here. We’re all still here. We can miss him together.”

George smiled despite himself, and slowly, the Weasleys (and one Granger, one Delacour and one Potter) went in for a long group hug. Harry had been avoiding looking at George’s missing ear, or the empty space beside him. They squeezed tightly. refusing to let go for a long, long time. They put in a lot of their thoughts into that hug- They hoped that George could feel it.

When they let go, George announced he was going to bed, and one by one, everyone began to leave for bed, too. Harry said goodnight to Mr and Mrs Weasley, who stayed behind in the kitchen to clean up, and headed up to Charlie’s room.

“Thanks for coming.” Charlie said, flopping down onto the makeshift mattress on his floor. Harry wanted to insist on taking the floor, but Charlie was better at insisting. “It’s good to have you back here. You know we started keeping this vigil because we realised that George would stay up all night and talk to himself like he was talking to Fred, so we thought we’d keep him company. This is what it turned into.”

“That’s nice.” Harry made themselves reluctantly comfortable in Charlie’s bed. They stared up at the ceiling, and let out a long sigh.

“What’s up?”

“Nothing, really.” They replied. “Just stuff.”

“You’ve got it pretty hard though, Harry.” Charlie looked up at them with an expression they couldn’t decipher. “I think you’re hurting just as much as George. I can understand it if you’re shouldering all that blame. I miss Fred too- I can’t imagine what it’s like to be you, missing everybody else, mourning. It’s been rough here without you, but I think it’s been rough for you without us, too.”

Harry opened their mouth to speak, then closed it. Then opened it again.

“I have a weird request.”

“Yeah?”

“Can we… Like. Sleep. In the same bed. Together.”

“… Why?”

“Because.” Harry turned to face the wall, away from Charlie. “I’m a mess and I actually would really like a hug.”

He laughed.

“Sure, kid.” He climbed up the bed and shimmied an arm under Harry’s head. “Don’t worry, I’m cool with this. You’re like one of my kid siblings to me, y’know? And I’ve got four of those. Five, with you.”

“You counted Fred.”

“Of course.” Charlie patted Harry’s hair. “He’s still my kid brother. He’s not here anymore, but he’ll always be ours. And anyway, Ron asks to sleep in either Bill or my bed sometimes, if Hermione’s not around. He also only asks Bill if Fleur isn’t around”

“… Ron does?”

“Oh yeah, big time. But Ronnie always makes it weird. I’m over that toxic masculinity shit, I platonically cuddle my friends all the time, but Ronnikins… He needs a bit more time. Now Ginny, she’s great with this stuff. She wouldn’t even ask. She just comes into the room and wiggles under your arm.”

“I’ve definitely gotten that. I’ve had sleepovers with Ginny before. She actually does squirm into your arms.”

“Or she spoons. But she’s so tiny so it’s like having a little backpack.”

“Really? I can’t tell.”

“That’s because _you’re_ tiny too.”

“It’s because I’m trans.” They grumbled. “I need more boy juice, maybe I’ll grow taller with more boy juice.”

“Oh, no, Merlin. Harry, _never_ call your hormones your ‘Boy juice’.”

“No promises.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The ending scene was inspired by a story that one of my favourite comedians, Russell Howard, shared about his younger brother, who has epilepsy. One night, Russell’s brother came in (They were 21 and 18) asking if they could sleep together. He said “Sure.” And they shared a bed for a year, with Russell’s brother sleeping on Russell.
> 
> When he asked many years later, it turned out that his brother was afraid that he’d have a seizure in his sleep, and nobody would be able to catch him. So he slept on top of Russell so that if he had another fit, he’d wake him up.
> 
> The story was delivered as part of a bit about going to the doctors’ and embarrassment, but it did speak to me about something else- The lack of hesitation that Russell had when asked. It’s something I hadn’t thought about before- That it’s possible for two brothers to be so comfortable with each other physically that the whole thing just worked out better than I expected it could.
> 
> EDIT: Also, as a secondary note - Smoking is bad for you. Don't start, kids. Vaping is bad too, no matter what the sellers try to tell you. The flavor of cancer that you injest does not make it any less cancer. This is coming from a smoker, so y'all know what I'm talking about.


	12. A Single Stone in the Summer Field

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 絶えず人  
> taezu hito   
> いこふ夏野の  
> ikou natsuno no   
> 石一つ  
> ishi hitotsu
> 
> "People are always resting on a single stone in the summer field"  
> \- Masaoka Shiki

George practiced alone in the woods behind their house when nobody could be around to stop him. He hated the pain, the physical act of casting, but he felt like he had to at least try. Even as the pain shot up his arm and burned and ached, he kept trying, at least to cause a single bruise on the trees. Sometimes it worked. But most of the time, it didn’t.

“Hello, George.” Came a voice behind him, and George jumped, pointing his wand towards the source. Harry put their hands up. “Woah, sorry. It’s just me.”

“Merlin, Harry. Don’t do that.”

“Sorry.” Harry walked up slightly behind him. “Charlie said you’d be practicing out here. I was wondering if I could join in.”

“You sure you’re not just here to show off to a guy with broken magic?”

“Nope.” Harry produced their own wand and pointed it at a tree. “Watch this. _Stupefy!”_

A feeble spark sputtered the end of Harry’s wand, and a searing pain shot up their arm. Harry gritted their teeth, resisting the pain and lifted the sleeve of their jacket to reveal a bright red burn. George stared.

“You too?”

“Yup. Did Charlie tell you yet?”

“No, was he supposed to?”

“Probably not, if he hadn’t gotten the chance yet.” Harry tucked their wand back into their pocket. “I just told him about it last night. Sometimes souls can break from a lot of trauma. We got hit hard because we lost a connective part of our souls.”

George sat down on the grass, and Harry did too.

“Tell me more.”

“It’s got a lot to do with twin stuff.”

“Tell me anyway.”

Harry pursed their lips and calculated their words, unsure of how to phrase what they knew delicately. It was easy to talk to Charlie about it, but actually telling George was something else altogether.

“I read it somewhere - I think it was a brochure my Mind Healer had - that twins share a piece of their soul. That’s how magical twins are born, you’re basically made of two souls fused at one single point. When one twin’s soul gets broken, the other one is left without that connecting part. It’s not _broken_ in the physical sense, but that sort of change is massively traumatic to a person’s magic. So things backfire and hurts the user instead. It’s made worse by mental health problems.”

“That makes sense.” George shrugged. He sighed and lay back against a tree. “I thought it was something like that. I can’t believe that something like that is still hurting me after so long.”

“How has the last five years been for you?”

“Just as you’d expect, I think. The worst of it all is over, but I’m still stuck. I’ve just started practicing my magic again, because it feels like it’ll help.”

“My Mind Healer told me that it helps if you start with smaller, new spells. I learnt some medical spells, the easiest one was my STI inspection stuff.”

George laughed awkwardly, suddenly not really wanting to make eye contact with Harry.

“Good to know you’re being responsible, I guess?”

“I’m not going to lie, I think it’s enabling me.” Harry crouched forward, hugging their knees. “Can’t really seem to stop, y’know? It’s a wonder that I haven’t gotten anything awful during this time. Sure I got stuff but I’ve managed to avoid the incurable things this whole time. It’s nutters.”

“If you’re going about it the right way, I don’t think it is.”

“I’m not.” They admitted. “Not all the time.”

“Does Gins or Ron know about this?”

“No.”

“You should tell them.” George looked up at the branches, as the light filtered through and burned his eyes. “They’d be more helpful than I am right now. It’s gonna be a rough week for me. You know, usually I just go through the rest of the year like nothing happened. You’d never guess it. I can hole myself up in my office and work, head down to the store and convince kids to buy a couple Dungbombs, and it all seems okay. But when May comes around or just as April starts to roll in, it hits me. I get so depressed and suddenly I can’t get out of bed, and I can’t eat, can’t look in the mirror without crying.”

He lifted his wand up, if only for the sake of having something to stare at. He traced his gaze over the etching- _Property of George Weasley-_ and set it down on the grass beside him with no real regard.

“It’s not fair.” George said, sighing heavily. “I get to get away with losing an ear, but Fred’s just _gone,_ you know? It’s just stupid- How come I get to live, and why not somebody else? What good is this, what greater purpose is this? If everything happens for a reason, why’s that I get to live while Fred’s gotta go and die? It’s just stupid. It’s not fair. Life’s not fair.”

“It’s really not.” Harry agreed. They stared straight ahead, their eyes trained upon a blade of grass like they could watch it grow. “Sometimes I wonder why I get to live, too. I mean- I don’t know if I’ve got the right to wonder this, you know? We know what the prophecy said about me, that if I died that means Voldemort wins. None of us would be alive. But I do wonder about it. It makes me sick in the gut.”

“I think that’s normal, but in a really shit way.” He shrugged. “I think you’ve got a lot to shoulder. We all do. The people who died are people we loved. Like we can talk about Lavender Brown- She was irritating, but we know how much she liked Ron. There’s a part of Ron that’s still a little torn up about her, y’know? He didn’t _love_ her, we were stupid teens, but it happened.”

Harry didn’t know. They hadn’t considered it- That Ron would think about Lavender Brown from time to time and feel guilty. Did he feel it like a shot to the gut? Or did he feel it like a tidal wave, washing over him like it could carry him off?

How did Hermione feel, having shared a room with Lavender? Did she feel guilty for anything she said? Did it feel conflicting, knowing who Lavender was, what it felt like to be in a dorm with that girl?

“I suppose.” Harry said, instead.

They sat in silence for a while, not quite knowing what to do or say. But the action of sitting there was comforting, the silence of knowing that they both had the same pains hidden away, hiding inside the length of their sleeves.

“I’m sorry about Fred.” Harry finally said, to nobody in particular. “It’s not the same without him.”

“It’s really not. I don’t think I could be Actually Funny George for at least another decade, honestly.”

“You don’t have to be. We all changed.”

“We got more fucked up, I think.” George chuckled. “It’s a new world.”

“I had a piece of Voldemort’s soul in me. I got cursed with it the night I got my scar. When Voldemort killed me in the woods, he destroyed it. I think it’s why my magic is broken. My soul can’t handle the trauma.”

“That’s nutters.”

“I know.”

They both sighed at the same time. It seemed like all that everyone was doing- Sighing, maybe just barely holding it together. Sometimes it seemed like all there was to do at the end of a war was to sigh as if it was over. As if any of it would be over for the rest of their lives.

“I survived,” George said at last, “and I think this is how I’m paying for it.”

“Living is not a transaction, George.” Harry said instinctively, not really sure where the words were coming from. “We survived, and that’s it. Our sanity is not the price for surviving, and PTSD isn’t the consequence for living when everyone else didn’t. We’re alive because they can’t be anymore, and that’s it.”

They hugged their knees a little closer.

“If I thought of this otherwise, I’d be dead.” They mumbled. “I don’t want to believe it. I’ve been struggling to let myself believe it- that it’s okay if I’m happy to believe or that it’s okay to _be_ alive. But if I don’t keep thinking it, at least, keep it in my head, I’d probably kill myself.”

“I think it’s kind of a miracle that nobody we know has killed themselves.” George admitted. “I’m still scared that I’d hear about it.”

“I know that Pavarti admitted herself to St. Mungo’s for her depression a while back. I don’t know how she’s doing, or whether she’s still there.”

“But she’s alive.” He said, his face resolute. “I think that’s a good thing. We’re alive. I think that’s also a good thing, no matter what my mouth is saying about it. I want to be alive, and I want to get up and go to work and not have to force myself to forget about all of this every year when it comes back around to this time of year. I want this day, or this week, to be an excuse to see Mum and Dad and nothing more than that. And I think it’ll happen in time. But it won’t be today.”

“It won’t be today, huh.” They repeated, softly. Like the words were bubbles, shattering on the tip of their tongue. “I suppose not.”

“Yeah.”

It seemed like all that everyone was doing was sighing, all the time. It was never going to be over, or easy. It seemed like it was never meant to be easy. Harry knew this, and so did George. So did everyone. But it seemed as if they had just realised this for the first time, that it was never going to be easy, but they weren’t letting the times be hard, either.

“Found you.” Charlie and Ginny emerged from behind them, carrying some brooms. “We were gonna play some Quidditch, do you guys wanna join? We’re gonna play Chasers only, keep it easy.”

“I haven’t played in forever.” Harry said, standing up. “I think I’ll watch.”

“Boo.” Ginny stuck her tongue at them. “You’re just scared you’ll lose.”

“Bold of you to assume that, because I _will_ lose if I played against you.”

“I’ll play.” George said, also standing up. “Some exercise would be good for me, I’m getting rounder.”

“You’re under no obligation to lose weight, Georgie.” Charlie said, raising one eyebrow. George laughed, and grabbed a broom from his hands. “Let’s go ask Perce if he wants to play.”

“While you’re at it, tell Bill that if he doesn’t join, I’ll kick his arse.” Ginny grumbled.

“No, I won’t ask, because he joins us, _he’ll_ be kicking all our arses.”

“Speak for yourself, Gryffindor Captain.”

“But I was the better Gryffindor Captain.” Harry grinned. Ginny shoved them with a short laugh.

“You wish.”

* * *

Draco liked libraries. Maybe it was the shifting of pages, or a slight creak of chairs, or the climbing up ladders to reach higher shelves that ignited a little spark of feeling in him. He liked the smell of books, the older the better. He liked the feeling of turning a page and finding exactly what he was searching for, finding a book that told him exactly what he was looking for.

Like this page, for example, of a renowned witch from England by the name of Primrose Rain, who would have referred to herself in present day terms as a transgender woman. Despite lacking the vocabulary for it back then, Draco found mention of her in this book about group spells, where she said explicitly:

_“Call me a man again, I dare you. Call me a man again, and I’ll leave this circle and leave you all hanging here for the rest of your sorry lives.”_

Contextually, it was a section on an old method of binding souls to items such as locked chests or books, such that they can only be opened if all of the people in attendance during the ritual were present to open it. It required an odd number of people, therefore if a person left during this ritual, it couldn’t be completed or broken until they returned or until someone else took over. Which in turn would leave all of the members who were in the midst of casting the spell stuck, unable to leave the circle.

The text was outlining why ritual itself would run out of use, and it was for that exact reason, as it turned out to be an effective way to trap your enemies and leave them for dead. It existed far before magical people found a way to more effectively craft wands, and hence it now only requires all keepers of the item to be present simply to speak the words for the Charm to work.

But enough about that- That wasn’t why Draco was here, though he just couldn’t help reading the rest of it, because it was just so _gosh-darned_ interesting. He made a note of the page number and the title in his notebook - hovering ever so gently with a Quick-Quotes Quill- so that he could make a copy of the page, highlight what Rain said, and add it to the currently small archive of her achievements.

From what the archive’s historians had gathered, Rain was a black Muggleborn suffragette witch who, among other things, campaigned against the segregation of Purebloods and Muggleborn magic users, most known for her speech pointing out how the newly-minted laws were clearly ignoring the existence of Half-bloods, which led to a new debate within the courts about the ethics of the segregation, ultimately leading to the ruling that the law would _not_ be passed at all.

She would later marry a Half-blood woman using a loophole that allowed her, a woman, to marry a woman, as she was still seen in the court of law as a man at the time. Which, of course, caused a whole other tirade that the other volunteer historians and archivists were certain she also fought for.

Unfortunately, her marriage was ultimately voided- But she would leave the town she lived in and move to the countryside, where she and her wife Margaret “Magpie” Jones lived out the rest of their lives together. It was also rumoured that they had a dog, but Draco hadn’t found photographic evidence of it yet.

Satisfied with his findings- Rain’s mention in that book was only one amongst many others- he began his descent down from the ladder he had been precariously standing on.

“Malfoy?”

Draco nearly missed a rung and slipped from the ladder, grabbing the rungs tightly and managing to catch any falling books with a quick flick of his wand. He looked down, rather cross, only to realise it was Neville Longbottom, walking by with an armful of books.

“Good grief, Longbottom.” Malfoy mumbled. “I almost dropped my books.”

“What are you doing here?”

“I’m working, McGonagall should have told you.” He hopped off the ladder safely and retrieved his book. “I’m volunteering for an archive group.”

“It might have slipped my mind.” Longbottom adjusted his hold on the pile of books he was carrying. “You know me. Forgetful.”

“No, I can understand you forgetting that.” Draco said, to which Longbottom looked down at the books and sighed. Draco gripped the strap of his messenger bag a little tighter. “I don’t think any memory that has me in it is very pleasant.”

Hearing that, Longbottom looked up with puzzlement written in his eyes. Draco avoided looking at him directly, but tried to seem aloof. He wondered if he was more surprised by the contents of his sentence or by the way he said it. Either way, he wasn’t sure if he liked his expression.

“That’s fair, I suppose.” Longbottom shrugged. “I’m just returning these for Professor Sprout. I’ll see you around?”

“Yeah.” Draco nodded quickly. “Yeah. See you around.”

He trudged off without so much as a cursory glance back at him.

* * *

Back at the archival office, Draco stepped into the conservators’ workroom, trying not to cough at the waft of cleaning supply struck him square in the nose. He swore up and down that he might never get used to that, and it made the conservation room a place he would have gladly avoided, if he could.

“Sorry, Langley.” Draco tapped a brunette witch wearing a pair of protective goggles on the shoulder, and she looked up from the photograph she was trying to get moving again. “I just got back from Hogwarts, and I have some documents you might want to take a look at.”

“Oh for the love of…” She sighed, and put down her goggles. “Sure, hand them here, I’m about done with this picture anyway.”

Draco peeked into the small tray of restoration potion and rose an eyebrow.

“Doesn’t look like it’s moving.”

“This and the rest from its roll is likely never going to move again, sadly. I’d blame the First Wizard War, this probably went fucky because someone tried to force the film canister open without the owner’s permission. Maybe a Death Eater got their hands on it and wanted to see if there was any evidence or something.”

“But, we managed to get it open, which means…”

“The owner’s probably dead. That, or I’m just _amazing_ at cursebreaking. I called Kamila to let her know so that we can find out if there are any people we should be returning the originals to.”

“Who are these people?” Draco asked, as Langley put her goggles back on and pulled the still picture out.

“No idea.” She shrugged, pinning it up. “But from the looks of things, this was a picture taken at the exact moment these two found each other just after a battle. They look relieved. I got it to move for about a minute while it was hanging out in the potion, but then it stopped and now it won’t start again. So it’s fucky.”

The picture had two teenagers hugging each other tightly, one of whom was kissing the other on the cheek. Draco presumed that they were two boys, but if there was anything about Queer History taught him, it was that you could never be too sure. A part of Draco hoped both of these people were still alive, so that they could return the picture.

“Who got this?”

“Someone found it at a thrift store and donated it to us. The canister said ‘ _Des trucs homosexuels’_ and the wizard who found it didn’t have any real way of developing it themselves, so they sent it to us.” Langley pulled her goggles up to sit them on her head, and rolled her chair over to a different table to inspect what Draco had brought in. He pulled up a chair beside her and plonked the books down on the table. Langley cracked her knuckles.

“So, this isn’t much, but there’s a small part of we were looking for- Confirmation of Primrose Rain’s own thoughts about her gender. So now we know for sure that she was _very_ loud about it. The page is… here. And we have an illustration on the other that you can _kind of_ see Rain’s face. Sorry it’s not much.”

“No, this is a pretty good find. I’ll see what I can do about the picture on this page, I feel like it should be animated since they definitely developed moving illustrations by Rain’s time, but it’s an old book so it’s understandable if it won’t move anymore. If we figure this one out maybe we’ll get another not-racist illustration of her.”

“I’ve also got some other stuff that you’d be interested in, just general historical text about old glamour spells, text about queer code… They’re both whole books and they’ve got some problems with faded print, sorry that you’re gonna have to work through that.”

Langley sorted them out into their respective categories with a huff.

“You always bring in so much work.”

“It’s not my fault there’s only like, four people working in conservations. We’re all just doubling-up as other things, you know, given how few of us there are.”

Langley chuckled, taking off her apron and gloves.

“Wanna grab dinner?”

“Yes please. Kamila told me to chase Nabil for the newspaper clippings he said he’s working on duplicating but apparently it’s been an actual week and he’s still not updated anybody.”

“No, he’s definitely working on it, I’ve seen him. I think there’s a problem with the text, or it should’ve been an easy job. He’s thinking someone intercepted it on its way over to us but only managed to hex it. Which is some kind of miracle, in its own way.”

“Owls work so hard.”

“They _do_ and it’s probably the best thing we’ve ever developed as a society.” She put her hands behind her head as they entered the busy streets of London. “What do you want? I could go for some fish and chips.”

“That sounds good. Shall we head down to _Poppy’s_?”

“You’re addicted to that place.”

“You and Kamila introduced me!”

“Yeah, and I can’t believe you liked it so much. Imagine, rich, white, classist Malfoy, loves himself some messy fish and chips in a plastic basket.”

“Oh, you know me, Langley.” Draco grinned, pulling open the door to Poppy’s. “Draco Malfoy, always breaking those classist barriers. With that said, _ladies first.”_

“Dick.” She chuckled, heading in.

They sat down, ordered, and waited. Draco propped his elbow up on the table and leaned against his hand.

“So how’s your life? Still the same old?”

“Still the same old.” She sighed. “Having a Muggle partner is pish. I can’t tell him about this part of my life, can’t show him the fun things I’ve got going for me. No, the law says we’ve got to hide like we’re shameful secrets. _"_

“That statute has been outdated for ages. I don’t think it’s wrong to suggest a loosening of how strictly we’re governing this, is it? I think the Pureblood Supremacists - cough, my parents - might burst a couple blood vessels if we tried, though.”

“ _Fuck_ the Pureblood Supremacy. They’re _pish._ They can barely handle a change in the goddamn Hogwarts syllabus when it included Muggle Studies, they’ll just have to fuckin deal with changing laws, the _pricks._ Fuckin’ Boomers.” She huffed as they were served their fish and chips. “Ah, thank you.”

“Your accent really comes through when you’re mad about something.” Draco teased, digging into his meal. “I’m not sure how to approach the subject, still. I know the buzzwords and the ethics, right, but I’ve been in the thick of things for way, way too long. I’m still learning how to talk about it, so I’m sorry that I can’t contribute.”

“Nah, you’re good. I know you’re doing your best, you’ve got the right intentions and you’re doing the best you can. You’re alright, Malfoy.” She shovelled more fish into her mouth. “Ugh, _best_ fish and chips in London. Love it when fish literally crumbles on my fork- Love that soft shit.”

“So this is a texture you like.”

“Oh, _absolutely._ Best texture, hands down. And the atmosphere of this place is great, no harsh lighting, not super crammed so the noise level is like, _okay_. The world is too bright, I’d rather the whole world just dimmed the lights a little and shut the fuck up.” She laughed, ripping into a fry. “Hey did you know? Kamila thinks I’m the best Conservator in the archive. She says I’ve got superpowers. I said it’s because she’s biased because she doesn’t like Nabil. Which is fair, to be honest, he’s got a while to go. Only just came out, can’t blame ‘em for the mild bootlicking.”

“Nabil _is_ a baby gay, but I’d say you’re not supposed to _deepthroat_ the boot.”

“You’re also technically a baby gay. Nabil’s still learning, so I forgive him because he tries. You, on the other hand, just don’t come off as a baby because you’re a nerd who researches everything with far more dedication than necessary”

“I like knowing things.”

“Same here, but historical. Love me some history. Shit, I love conservation work so much. I’m working on a new method of photographic development, y’know, just on the side. I don’t want to restore things so much that they look _super new_ and pristine, because you can’t feel the stuff if they look like they were printed yesterday, but my idea is to figure out a way to reverse time on an object so that it goes back to before it started fading. It’ll really revolutionise the way we restore things.”

Langley did tend to ramble. Draco had learnt to sit down and just listen, mostly because she always had something cool to say. When Langley talked on and on, it meant that she trusted you to listen without rejecting her ideas, or her way of understanding the world.

Being Muggleborn, she felt more connected to her Muggle past, having lived in it for a good majority of her life before Hogwarts. The magic baffled her- A lot of it didn’t quite make sense. When she _did_ understand things, it was hard to shut up about it, and it made for a challenge when it came to making friends or getting along with people. So when she talked about magical things she understood, it meant that she liked you enough to trust that you wouldn’t dismiss her as simply talking about things that _everyone knew._

She understood that much- Everyone knew things. Of course. But she didn’t understand them the same way everyone else did, so talking aloud about them was better for her than simply pretending like she understood. Magical Conservation was a lot like Muggle Conservation work, which her father got her interested in at a young age, which she grew up loving and never really stopped. It was all she wanted to do in her life. It put her in the zone.

“Tell me more.” Said Draco, and Langley beamed.

“Oh, you are not _ready_ for this. Here we go, infodump time. _SO!_ We’ll start with the concept of time. Wibbly Wobbly thing, right? We’ve got time-turners, _entire_ legislations about them, and they’re so rare and hard to obtain. _Okay,_ we get that. Time is basically just this whirlpool-y thing where you go along the thread.

But there are _many_ threads, infinite possibilities, right? And the time-turner works by allowing the person wearing it to go backwards a certain amount of time on one single thread, or so we think. In reality, what the time turner does is that it keeps the user still in one point in their time, and reverses _everyone else._ That’s how a Time-Turner works. Because if it sent the user backwards, the user would have to de-age several hours at a time, or even several years. Meaning, to preserve the user’s physical state, the Time-Turner has to preserve what we exist as at a specific point in time. It’s a marvel- That Time-turners are so powerful and yet, so small. Hard as fuck to make, too.

But anyway, in other words, we’re just allowed to travel along a plane, with time travel. But what if we applied that to the process of De-Aging and preservation? We already have potions and spells that preserve a person’s appearance, though it doesn’t obviously extend their lives. Nobody lives forever.

So what we have on our hands is a theory. You _can_ freeze a person in a certain time, you can make them _look_ younger or older, but they won’t _actually be._ But what about an object? Objects don’t breathe or live or die. So what if you could turn back time just on that one object, turn it back just enough that it goes back to the way it was a few days, weeks, or even years ago, and freeze it? What if we immortalised objects like that? We could totally do that, couldn’t we? It’s super advanced and hard to do, because it’s got us messing with time, and that means we can’t rely on the magic drawing on the amount of time that the same object has in all of the _other_ realities. We have to make sure it’s only going to affect _ours._ So this shit is psyching me out, I’m literally bouncing off the walls right now, I love this shit it’s so fun.”

She clapped as she said it, in her excitement having forgotten to eat her fish. She giggled and shovelled more food into her mouth, seeming to vibrate as she tried to calm herself down. She clapped some more.

“You’re diving _real deep,_ Langley.” Draco laughed, having finished his meal while Langley was talking and was now just sipping on his soda. She giggled again.

“I just love stuff about conservation work. Magic is meh but using it to conserve things is so cool.”

“You’ll be in history books, if you succeed.” Draco nudged. She giggled. Langley was always giggly when she had the chance to fully express her love for a subject.

“They better write my name _big_. Ursula Langley. Make me mum and dad proud.”

She finished her meal and sighed, patting her stomach. They sat in silence for a while as she downed the drink.

“We should head back, I want to start on your books.”

“They’re on loan from Hogwarts, so remember that we have to return the original to them.”

“Ah yeah, I’ll remember that. Let me just… Write it down.” She jotted a note on the post-it pad she always carried around with her. “Dumb ADHD brain.”

She put the note back in her pocket, knowing she was going to forget about the note as soon as they entered the building.

“You’re not dumb. You’re one of the most intelligent people I know.”

“Flirt.” Langley laughed, shoving Draco slightly. He chuckled, as they turned into a discreet alleyway, where their small archive was currently working out of sight from Muggles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These are scary times we live in. Please remember to wash your hands, don't hoard shit you don't need, and take care of yourselves. While I'm at it- Do support your local Asian markets and/or stores, who may be getting hit by the racism that's come out of the virus. Support the people who will be the most vulnerable, those with pre-existing illnesses and the elderly. By taking care of your health, you'll also be taking care of theirs by not exposing them to any possible viruses.
> 
> Now more than ever, people need to support one another. Do keep yourself informed and avoid panicking.
> 
> Sending my love from Singapore,  
> Silent_Lex


	13. Mise-en-Scène

“Have some more pie, Harry. You’re as thin as a twig- If you’re not careful you could get blown away by the wind.” Mrs Weasley chided, as she cut out another piece of Shepherd’s Pie and put it on their plate. Harry chuckled nervously, knowing full well they could still eat but were just finding it hard to summon the energy to keep at it.

George was trying not to snicker at Harry, also knowing that now it was their turn to be fussed over and worried about incessantly. Everything else seemed normal, at lunch. Percy had shown up at last- and had to be stopped from continuing on his tireless tirade of boring bureaucratic talk. Only Harry let him steamroll on and on about a topic that was hard for everyone else to keep up with, but only because Harry was too polite to refuse.

“While I was travelling,” Harry said, and Ron’s head snapped to attention, because this was rare. Harry rarely talked about their road trip, usually they talked about anything but being on the road. They seemed to prefer talking about magic that they no longer used or wanted a part of, over talking about the road.

“My car ran out of petrol beside of a small farm,” Harry continued. “The farmer happened to be out working on some carrots, and saw me. He and his wife invited me in for lunch, helped me to refuel. It was Shepherd’s Pie, too. They let me pet their dog. I bought some cheese from them.”

“That sounds lovely, Harry.” Said Mrs Weasley, smiling brightly. “Do you remember where exactly you were? It would be lovely to visit.”

“Unfortunately not. I was wondering if I should try to find them again, to say thanks. I did trace my route on several maps and I still have them all, so I could try to look them up.”

Mrs Weasley laughed, and Ron jabbed at a bit of mincemeat. Hermione, too, had felt as if she was paying a strange amount attention to Harry’s short anecdote, all of a sudden. She wondered if it was a good thing.

Percy finished eating first, announcing he had work to do. He sounded nonchalant when he said it- Sounded smug, like the pompous arse he was. But he brought his own dishes to the sink, he shrugged when Mrs Weasley said she’d do them for him because he was so busy. He washed them up himself, gave her a hug, and went upstairs to his childhood bedroom while everyone else watched.

“I’ve got work to do too.” Bill said out loud. “But it can wait.”

“Oh shut up, Bill.” Ron grumbled.

“Oh no, Ronnikins, do you also have things to do that you’re not doing right now? That’s awful of you.” Charlie chided, prompting Ron to stare daggers at him and hold his spoon in an oddly threatening manner- if it was possible to look threatening with a spoon in your hand and Shephard’s Pie on your plate. Charlie snickered and returned to his plate. It reminded Harry of someone. They weren’t sure if they liked that.

“The work’s waiting at the office, I’m just not looking forward to going back.” Ron grumbled as he stabbed at his pie again.

“It’s because you always leave everything to do at the last minute.” Hermione said, helping herself to more pie. Harry had been mindlessly keeping track- She had gone back in for pie for a third time at this point, and they were in awe of her newfound ability to eat. A part of them was jealous, because more stomach room meant more time to enjoy Mrs Weasley’s cooking.

“I wish I knew where that farm was. They made some good cheese.” Harry said out loud, and Charlie looked as if he was about to burst out laughing. Perhaps the timing of it all was funny to him- but they weren’t sure.

“Good cheese is so hard to find.” Hermione agreed, ignoring Charlie’s attempts to stifle his laughter (in vain). “I keep trying to make Ron bring me to a farmer’s market, but he hasn’t brought me yet.”

“You go ham when you see cheese right now, I’d rather you stayed home and just told me what you want me to get.”

“Would you _know_ what exactly I want? Not my preferences, _exactly_ what I want.” She retorted, and Ron seemed to look off to the side like he was avoiding the answer. She smirked. “Thought so. Bring me to a farmer’s market.”

“Yes dear.” He smiled in spite of himself, polishing off his plate. “I’m done. Thanks, Mum.”

Mrs Weasley looked very pleased with herself. She continued to look pleased with herself as everyone started to clear up, having things to do, needing to busy themselves with work or other things. Harry helped with the dishes, Mrs Weasley hugged them tightly, and when they finally sat down, they realised that they had nothing to do, which they hated more than anything.

Not wanting to turn into the human equivalent of a sack of potatoes, Harry stood up and went outside to see if anyone was outside, and if they were, what they were up to. Hermione was sitting outside by the gardens, just staring and summoning little birds with her wand, like she did when Ron was being a dense prick in their Sixth year. They decided to sit down beside her.

“What are you up to?” Harry asked as they sat down, and she shrugged.

“Nothing in particular. Watching the birds and the gnomes. Not much I can do right now, really, this pregnancy is really hard on my body. Sucks, but then again my mum had a tough pregnancy with me too, it’s why I’m an only child.” She shrugged, waving her wand again for the birds to start singing with their sweet voices. “Truth be told, it’s why I’m not sure how to talk to anyone about how being pregnant has been for me.”

“Why not? You and Ron seem pretty excited about it- Though, I did expect you guys to be _more_ excited than you show.”

“It’s because the baby isn’t really… In the best shape, so to speak.” She sighed. She tried to focus her attention on the birds, but she started to stare off into the distance instead, letting the birds puff out one by one. “Baby’s having a tough time. He’s not responding much anymore, though we know he’s in here fighting.”

She put a hand on her belly, still staring ahead with a pained expression.

“There’s a good chance I won’t carry this baby to term- he could turn up stillborn. My mum’s first was still, too. She’s had a lot of miscarriages, so I think it’s in my genes.”

“He.” Harry mused. “So it’s male.”

“Yeah. Not sure if they’re a girl or boy, really.” She smiled, glancing over at them. “We were going to wait for them to tell us.”

“I see you’re still calling baby a _he,_ though.”

“The Healer called the baby _he._ We got way too used to it by accident. We should be using _they._ But Ron also pointed out that we might just be implying that _you_ are a baby every time we do that, which is not wrong.”

“Rude.” They laughed, hugging her. “I’m sorry to hear about the baby, though.”

“It’s alright. We’ve known for a while. We just didn’t know how to tell people about it. I’m not sure how to feel- I mean, we’re literally only twenty-one. Having a baby right now might not have been the best decision I’ve ever made. I mean, everything in me wants to say that I’m an adult or whatever, but the thing is, _I’m not._ I haven’t been an adult for long enough to be ready for this, and honestly… Now I’m scared.”

“You won’t be alone, you know. There’s Bill and Fleur, and Mr and Mrs Weasley when you need parenting help.”

“I know, but there’s that thing where I don’t know if I’m ready to sit down and buckle in. Ron’s not, either, though he’ll never say it. We decided to keep this baby thinking it was the _right_ thing to do, but… It’s not. It’s not fair to the kid. And if I _do_ carry to term… We might completely fuck them up.”

“Alright, Hermione.” Harry grabbed Hermione’s hand and squeezed tightly. “You’re totally gonna fuck this kid up. A hundred percent. But your parents also fucked up, Mr and Mrs Weasley probably fucked up too, Bill and Fleur will and have fucked up, and therefore, so will you and Ron. But you’ll be _alright._ You’ve probably read enough pregnancy books to teach a class.”

Hermione blushed, knowing they were right.

“And the thing is, I’m never going to be pregnant. I can’t even if I wanted to, so I don’t know how this feels for you. But it’s okay to _grieve_ for something just as much as you are _relieved_ for it. I can tell you that it’s okay to feel conflicted about something, but either way you’re going to be okay. If baby makes it, you’ve got everyone else’s back. If baby doesn’t, you’ll still have everybody else’s back. We’ll still be here, you know?”

She smiled, rubbed at her eyes like she had been trying not to cry. Harry gave her another hug.

“I’m still sorry to hear about this, though.”

“I’m sorry too.” She admitted. “Regardless of what I just said- I was really excited, and nervous in a good way. Our next appointment is soon. They’re going to see what they can do for baby. But if it’s really, really bad, they might have to stop it early before it develops into sepsis. So… We’ll see what happens.”

“Will you tell me?” They blurted out. Hermione’s eyes widened in surprise. “I- I mean, about how it goes. It’s stuff about you and Ron. My best friends. I’d like to know about it.”

Hermione blinked, and then she laughed. She squeezed their hands tightly with both of hers.

“Thank you, Harry.” She said, smiling. “I’ll be sure to do that.”

She leaned back on the bench, and sighed, staring back up at the sky.

 

* * *

 

Neville watched Draco Malfoy leave the library with his hands in his pockets, wondering to himself about when he’d ever seen Draco wear yellow. He sighed and turned back to shelving the books. Draco Malfoy seemed polite, but not cordial. He was a little bit anxious, as far as Neville could tell, but then again Neville _was_ also rather anxious most of the time. It wasn’t an issue, per se- Perhaps McGonagall _did_ mention this, and if she didn’t, he doubted that Madam Pince would have allowed Draco to leave with those books without permission.

“Excuse me, Mr Longbottom, sir,” came a small voice, and Neville turned to face a young Ravenclaw. Someday, he’ll be Professor instead. “Sorry to bother you- I would’ve asked Professor Sprout, but she seemed really preoccupied, and I just wanted to ask something."

“Sure, of course. What do you need?”

“Well- I was wondering, is there a plant that can help someone breathe underwater? I was going to go diving in the lake to collect some-“

“Hold on, stop there. You know that you’re not allowed to go dive in the lake, right? It’s against the school rules.”

“Well, yeah, but-“

“So… What made you think that _I_ was going to tell you how?” Neville laughed, and the student flushed. Grumbling, the student walked away, presumably to do their own research. He knew the answer, of course. He just wasn’t about to give the student information they needed to break school rules and screw up his training.

“That’s quite stern of you, Neville. Are you sure you’re not going to help?” Came a much sweeter, gentler voice. Luna smiled as she walked up beside him and kissed him on the cheek. He smiled back at her, stuffing the books where they belonged as quickly as he could so that his arms would be free to hug with. “How are you doing? I was going to ask if you wanted to have a late lunch with me.”

“That kid will probably find a way, but I won’t be responsible for it. Hello to you too, Luna.” He said, intertwining his fingers with Luna’s and kissing her knuckles. “I’m done for the day, there shouldn’t be anymore lessons on my schedule. I’ve only got to head back to tend to the plants later, but other than that I’m good to hang out with you today.”

“That’s nice, you’re done on time today.”

“Right?” Neville chuckled, as the two left the library before Madam Pince could tell them off for talking.

Luna squeezed his hand as they strolled through the secret passageway. They still used it, because it was efficient method of travel, and she thought traversing through the darkness felt like healing.

“How was your day?”

“Fine. Usual second-year stuff, Mandrakes. Awful, those little buggers, but the students’ faces always make it worth it. It’s silly to look- can’t imagine us looking like that as kids, can you?”

“Oh, I think I can.” She smiled.

Neville kicked a pebble, listening to it scatter and echo across the hall. Because he could.

“Have you talked to Harry at all lately?” He asked.

“Ginny and I brought him some homemade hangover remedy. I think they’ll be alright.”

“Did they say anything about Draco Malfoy?”

“No.” She shrugged. “But speaking of Draco Malfoy, I did see him leaving as I was coming to see you. Seemed in a hurry.”

“He said he was here to do some research for a magical archive.”

“Oh, I heard about it. He gave Ginny a brochure.” Luna produced it from her pocket. “I’ve been carrying it with me in case I felt like looking it up. You know, just for fun.”

“Let me see.”

He took the brochure and opened it up, skimming over the details. _Queer_ Magical Archives?

“This is…”

“Interesting, isn’t it?” She smiled. “It’s lovely, coming from him. He’s volunteering his time to them. Not something one would expect, though, not completely unexpected.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, if I used to be a Death Eater and I felt bad for my actions, I’d want to do something to give back and make some amends.”

“But this doesn’t… It doesn’t really do anything about that.”

“Of course not. I don’t think it undoes the wrongs he’s done. But I think it shows that he’s trying. I doubt that one would go around apologising to every person that they've ever hurt, that would be quite rude, and I’m sure people would want to move on with heir lives.”

“I know, but…” Neville tucked his free hand into his pocket. “It’s hard not to feel a little… I don’t know. Is ‘betrayed’ the right word? I’m not mad at Harry for this but I’m… I don’t know.“

“I think you _are_ mad at Harry, at least a little.”

Neville pursed his lips, swinging Luna’s hand. They were almost at the Hogsmeade exit, and he stopped them before the door.

“Luna, I’m trying to make sense of this on my own. It upsets me, it really does. It’s not something I can reconcile with easily. But I’m trying to see it from Harry’s point of view, and I’m trying to understand. I know they’re hurting, and I know Malfoy’s changed. But it’s still not easy. Please be patient with me.” He held both of Luna’s hands, imploringly, staring directly into her eyes. Those silver eyes.They nearly sparkled.

She smiled.

“I understand.” Luna stood on tiptoe and kissed his cheek. “I’m sure we both agree on this.”

Neville shook his head, and kissed her lightly on the lips.

“Thanks, Luna. So, what’s for lunch?”

 

* * *

 

“Luna’s doing a poetry slam this Sunday. It’s a wizard one, but it’s queer.” Said Ginny.

“Really?” Replied Harry.

“Yep. She texted me about it last night. Ugh, these _weeds-_ ”

“Fun.”

“Do you wanna come with me? It’d be fun.”

“Oh, no, I’m not one for poetry.”

“Well you’d like Luna’s stuff, then- _Fuck,_ how did this one- Oh shit- _Fuck!_ Ow.”

“Oh, shit, are you okay?”

“Oh I’m _fine_. Nothing’s broken, I don’t think. How are you not _sweating_ or anything?”

“I think the weeds on my side are a little looser, do you wanna switch?”

“No, I’m fine. So, Luna’s poetry slam? It’s not far from where Luna, Neville and I live, so we could go together.”

“No… I think that’s- That’s too many… No. I don’t do poetry, Ginny, I know it’s a big queer platform and everyone gay’s into poetry, but no… Not this Queer.”

“Luna reeeeeally wants you there.”

“I reeeeally don’t want to be.”

“Malfoy said he’d go.”

“… You asked _Draco_ before asking _me?_ ”

“Well yeah, he seems the nerdy type, he has taste and can appreciate some good poetry.”

“Uh huh…”

“Also I asked him first because I figured, hey, Harry might come if their latest crush does.”

“I _fucking_ knew it, you _asshole._ Rude!”

“But hey, you’re swayed now. Think about the Instagram stories, Harry. Think about the beers you’re missing out on. Think about the selfies with Malfoy you’re missing out on.”

“…”

“… I’ll buy you a drink.”

“ _Fine!_ I’ll go. But you’re buying me a stiff drink. I’m talking Whiskey. I want a straight up glass of firewhiskey, no ice, because you’re making me do this and I hate you.”

“Yay.”

“Also, I’m kidding, you’re my friend and I love you, but fuck you.”

 

* * *

 

_There is a wolf in my head._

_Silvery-eyed_

_and misty-clawed,_

_she stalks my thoughts_

_alone in the dark._

 

_There is a wolf in my head._

_Prancing in my moonbeam garden_

_where my memories roam free._

 

_Out the earth_

_comes wonderings of Threstrals,_

_and the Wolf, she comes,_

_she pounces, and the deed is done._

 

_I oft’ wonder what she knows_

_why her claws sink_

_and for whom she is singing._

 

_And I haft’ wonder if she knows_

_for what reason_

_and for whom she is crying._

 

_My lovers lie restless,_

_and they refuse to sleep._

_For there is Wolf in my head,_

_and all I see in silvered mirrors,_

_are the remains of the day,_

_mangled._

 

_\- Luna Lovegood_

 

* * *

 

Harry is frustrated.

They contemplated their options. There was always the shower- though it was a bit weird to be wanking in there, given the fact that they were sharing it with the other boys. Sure, they probably got their rocks off there too, but it just felt _weird._ They’d brought their own vibrator, of course, but they weren’t going to do that while in the same room as Charlie or anyone else.

There was absolutely nowhere to get off, and after literal months of regularly being able to get off with sex, not being able to masturbate was torture. There was a part of them that wished that this felt the same as when they had a play partner who enforced a No Self-Pleasure rule, because that would at least _still_ be experiencing some kind of pleasure and they would still be getting off in some way.

But alas, they were here, instead, being punished for thinking they would somehow have a way to get off in the few days they were staying with the Weasleys.

They got up and started to wander around instead, heading out into the forest clearing where George was practicing earlier on. They didn’t really want to get their rocks off there- It seemed a bit too open and also, _cold as hell._ So they sat down on the grass instead, and tried to think of more wholesome thoughts.

“There you are, Harry.”

Harry looked up, grimacing. Charlie stood over them by a tree, smiling.

“Goddammit. I was hoping for some space to clear my head.”

“It did concern me a bit when I saw the bed empty. Wondered where our honorary Weasley had gone.”

“Har har.”

“Might I sit?”

“Might as well.”

So Charlie sat, and Harry sighed.

“Why the long face, Harry?”

They pursed their lips, unsure of what to say. Or rather, they knew exactly what to say, but weren’t sure of _how_ to say it.

“Just stuff.” They said with a shrug. Charlie rose an eyebrow, and Harry sighed. “Ugh, fine. I’m just- a little frustrated right now. Just- Just a little. I’m, struggling. That’s all. Do I have to get more specific or is that good?”

“Oh. No, no, I got it. I get it. I mean, I don’t really, but I got what you mean. What was your plan?”

“Honestly I was just hoping that maybe I’d be in a room by myself and nobody would question the buzzing noises that escape out whoever’s room I was borrowing.”

“Oh please, Silencing Charms were never Bill’s forte. Nobody’s gonna question it.” Charlie laughed. A look of realisation crossed him, out of nowhere. “Merlin, did I walk in on you?”

“No, no, no, you’re alright. I was just trying to get some air. Think some wholesome thoughts and go back to sleep.” They chuckled, sheepish, running a hand over the back part of their hair. It was getting long- maybe they should cut it. They could get Jolene to do it for them. God, they missed Jolene. They missed Olive.

“I hear that never works.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Of course. I don’t know it myself, but I hear things. Grew up in rooms full of cishet boys, y’know? I picked up on things. Learning about masturbation… Eh. Admittedly it’s _fun,_ but I prefer to do other things. They were hiding porn magazines, I was subscribed to _DragonFactz._ ” Charlie smiled. “I still have some issues somewhere, actually.”

Harry sighed, and fell back into the grass with a soft groan. Charlie lay back as well, and they both sighed.

“I don’t understand why I’m like this.” Harry said out loud. “I don’t know where it came from- Like, the need or want to fuck everything. I mean, war trauma is one thing, but I was never sexually abused before I started aggressively trying to fuck every hot person I met. I don’t know why this happened to me. This whole… Thing.”

Charlie pursed his lips, staring up at the stars. His head was full of thought, his mouth dry of words. His fingers toyed at the blades of grass, careful not to rip them out. He pulled out his pack of cigarettes.

“Sounds like a pretty serious addiction. Wanna smoke?” He said, tapping the bottom to the ball of his palm. “Cloves.”

“God, yes please.” They said, accepting a cigarette, and he lit it for them with the flick of his wand. “I hate reds.”

They lay there in silence, occasionally taking long drags of smoke, the sugary taste of the smoke burning low and numbing their throats like cough syrup. Cloves were easy to get addicted to and were hard to find, it’s why Charlie tended to save them for the lowest of moments, even though they’d turn stale. Most of his friends and coworkers rolled their own, but he could never get into it. It was far too much work for the purpose of pouring more carcinogens into one’s body.

He sighed, a cloud of smoke billowing from his mouth.

“Sometimes, I think I should quit smoking. I told you, right, I started because I was a teenager and I was stressed all the time. Bill was trying not to let his bad habits become mine, but things happen. And it’s the same now. Things happen, and we find ways to deal with it. They’re not always good, but it’s how we deal.” He waved his cigarette around as he said it, creating pools of smoke that shimmered with magic. Harry had almost forgotten where they were.

Cloves had always been used in magic for banishing evil. It made sense that the smoke would shimmer. It made sense that cloves, when smoked, would clear the mind for a while. Harry forgot that.

“I don’t know if I can deal with my sex addiction just by thinking about it as ‘Shit happens’. Fuck, I don’t even know how to exist without the idea that I can keep going, as long as I could keep playing the hook-up game and see how many people I can collect before I contract something. Granted, Muggle diseases don’t hit wizards as hard, but still. I don’t know if I… feel human without sex anymore.”

“How did this start, for you? I mean, it’s gotta have started _somewhere._ How’d you lose your virginity?”

“If I answer, you’re gonna be mad.”

“… Ginny?”

“Ginny.”

“Thank Merlin. I would rather that than anything else, Harry. You two loved each other. Sure, you and Gins broke up, but it’s a good thing that your first times was with someone you cared about.”

Charlie stubbed out his cigarette on the damp grass and flicked it away. Harry sighed, stubbing theirs out as well and watching the butt slowly dissolve into thin air.

“Alright, fair enough. I don’t know about other things, though. I first hooked up with a girl I met at the club- We had sex in the bathroom. I didn’t hate it, it felt good and I wanted more. I never saw her again, though, so I decided to try hitting on people myself and see where it got me. I didn’t have much game when it started but after a while it got easier. And suddenly I realised that I had been frequently going to the club for nearly three years and I stopped caring about whether the sex was actually _fun_ or not. I chase sensations, a feeling, any kind of feeling. If I was a different person maybe I would’ve just become an alcoholic or a chain smoker. But this is what I got, I guess.”

Harry extended a hand to Charlie, motioning for another cigarette. He chuckled and batted their hand away.

“Sod off. You only get one expensive smoke a night.” He said, and they grimaced. “Get your own if you’re going to be picky about it.”

“Rude _._ ”

Charlie chuckled, and lit his regular cigarette. Harry hated the taste of Reds, but the smell was bearable. It was familiar, in a way.

“Sex is your crutch, then. It’s what makes you feel alive.” He exhaled the smoke through his nose. “Sounds exhausting, kid.”

“It is. If I’m being real about it, I don’t even know how to be a person anymore. I don’t know how to have friendships that don’t involve sex, except with one or two people in my life. I’m going to be real with you, sometimes I wonder if I’d ever accidentally coerced someone into having sex with me just by being _really_ aggressive about it or forgetting to say that there are no obligations.” They said, flopping one hand over their eyes as if the starlight was burning. “My friends say I’ve never done it, nobody who still texts me think I’ve done anything like that, but I still wonder about it, and I don’t think I’ll ever really be sure.”

Harry ran their fingers through their fringe and pursed their lips. They wished they were smoking cloves, or drinking passionfruit beer.

“I think I’m a bad person.”

“You’re a good person, Harry.” Charlie said. “Bad people don’t think about stuff like that. You’re a very good person going through a lot of shit.”

“I know.” They said, to both their surprise. “I think I know that. I’m not _ashamed_ of liking sex, and I don’t feel like I need to be afraid of it. It’s fine to like it and have a lot of it, y’know?”

“But it’s particularly bad for you _now_ because it’s a crutch, isn’t it? I think it’s like that with any addiction. Alcohol and weed- Fun at parties! Terrible for you when you rely on it to feel alive, especially when it starts to hurt your relationships. Though, honestly, cigarettes are generally just bad and nobody should do it.”

“Cigarettes are bad.” Harry agreed.

A breeze was picking up, and it made the glow of Charlie’s cigarette burn even brighter, almost like it was sparking.

“Is there a difference between Wizard cigarettes and Muggle ones?”

“Yeah, kind of. These are supposed to be ‘classic’ cigarettes, though, so they don’t do anything other than disappear when you’re done. The more fancy ones that my friends like let you exhale stuff like coloured smoke or images or shapes and whatnot. Needless to say, I can’t afford those.” He chuckled, and took a final drag. “Dragon handling doesn’t pay that well.”

Harry laughed in spite of themselves. The frustration had gone- It’ll return in the morning, they were sure. Everything would return, somehow, in some form. Charlie sighed.

“I don’t know how to apologise to your mum for leaving.” Harry admitted.

“You don’t have to. She loves you, and she gets it.”

“I think I should. I know she worried, and we all hate to see that. I love her too, you know. I don’t know how to say that I’m sorry for leaving and making her worry like that. I could’ve at least visited.”

“Harry, it’s a four hour drive between here and where you live. You can’t use magic anymore, you can’t Apparate or use the Floo. You are a person in recovery who won’t have the capacity or the bandwidth to make the trip down _especially_ when magic itself is a trigger for you. You don’t just force someone into an environment they can’t handle.”

“I just don’t understand why I’m like this. Why I’m stuck like this.”

“I don’t know either. But you’re not _stuck._ You came back. That means something, believe it or not.”

Charlie sat up and stretched, and so did Harry, who then hugged their knees. He sat closer, and hugged them tightly.

“You’re always going to be one of us, no matter how far apart we are. Look at Percy, the pompous ass. He left and broke Mum’s heart, but he came back. See how that happens? Same with you, Harry. You’re one of us.”

“Shut up, Charlie.” They said, squeezing him. “If you keep that up, I’ll cry.”

“That’s the goal.” He grinned. They let go, and he stood up. “C’mon, let’s get back to sleeping. The night will pass without us doing that, but it’s much faster when we sleep.”

He extended a hand to Harry, and they accepted it with a smile. They walked back to the house together, and Harry felt light.

Their phone lit up, and it was a text from Jolene. Just checking in. Looking at her name and picture on the screen, they smiled. Some things don’t change.

**_Harry:_ ** _‘You were right, Jo._ _I think I’m home.”_


End file.
